The Law of Vendetta
by Tiny Octopus
Summary: A young hired gun realizes she's involved in an old cycle of vengeance after running into the same faces over and over again, including a gentle-hearted mob boss, a poison specialist, and a hitman in a fedora. Reborn/OC.
1. Chapter 1

**And we're back!**

**This is not in any way related to my last KHR story (sorry to those of you who wanted the other half of "Ruined For Marriage," I'm still in the planning stages).**

**This is set post-series and in a hypothetical ten years later in which Tsuna is a successful boss and the Arcobaleno are adults.**

* * *

><p>Kovilka has been, as they say, around the block a few times.<p>

She is not from Italy and does not know it as well as other parts of Europe that are, say, just a bit further to the east across the Adriatic Sea, but after a few years of navigating slums and red light districts, every city's underbelly starts to look the same. She is not necessarily the cleverest or quickest on her feet, but she is good enough to keep herself alive. And she doesn't have as much experience as the hired guns who tend to travel in the same circles, but she knows that running into the same assassin more than once is not a normal occurrence. After all, mercenaries in Italy try their hardest to stay as far away from each other as humanly possible, because sharing clients is uncomfortable and sharing targets is inconvenient. But the worst is being hired at cross-purposes; walking into a room expecting an easy job, only to find another professional waiting. It's the kind of thing that happens once in a while to the truly unlucky, of whom Kovilka counted herself among long ago.

But the third time she runs into the hitman with a fedora, she starts to think there might be more to it than bad luck.

"You again," he greets her with a twinge of hesitation, "Are you going to give me a name this time?" His gun is still holstered, the hand that would hold it occupied with keeping her wrist over her head and her aim trained on the ceiling, the other keeping a blade at her back.

She doesn't answer, her own knife pressed against his throat, grip tensing around it with every breath he takes. If they stood any closer, they'd be sharing breath. She knows this man by now; Reborn, he calls himself, supposedly the strongest hitman in the country, maybe even the world. People talk, and the way they do makes her certain she shouldn't be sharing his company.

"Believe me, I tried finding it out myself. You just don't have much in the way of a reputation, I'm afraid," he says.

She tries to think of something she might have done to put herself in this position. Had she gotten in his way once? Botched a job without even realizing it? Hit his dog? Whatever it was, she still doesn't think she deserves this.

This job, like every other that she'd run into him on so far, wasn't supposed to be difficult or even dangerous. An informant wanted her to steal a list of the businesses owned by Donna Marcelli, a woman that the criminal underworld either adored or hated depending on who was asked. So she'd waited for nightfall, dressed in black, armed herself with the bare minimum expecting little resistance, and broke into the office of Donna Marcelli's accountant. She had been cautious despite not seeing anybody, and things had been going smoothly-she'd found the manila folder labeled "local income" from the file cabinet and skimmed the contents-when she noticed someone opening the door behind her. Not because it made so much as a creak, but because of the sliver of light that fell over her as she crouched in the dark that came from the hallway, and they'd rushed at each other, struggled a bit, made desperate grabs at one another's weapons, and finally ended up in their current position, frozen in a very dangerous waltz in the middle of the room.

"I assure you, this is as much of an inconvenience to me as it is you," he says, and against her better judgment, she opens her mouth.

"I really doubt that. You're one of the best in the country. If a job falls through, it's not as though you'll have trouble finding another."

"Cute, a beginner," Reborn says with a light smirk, "You might want to quit while you're still alive, sweetheart. The field's oversaturated as it is with kids like you." She refuses to bristle at the word _kid_. "Who's been hiring you, anyway? Are they getting tired of you screwing up yet?"

"Big talk for someone who's met me three times and still hasn't killed me."

She flinches when she feels something sharp at her back, pushing through the thin fabric of her jacket, and responds in kind by pressing the knife in her hand just hard enough to break the skin on the side of his neck.

"Third time's a charm," he murmurs.

Kovilka is acutely aware that she could be staring death in the face. She's had close calls before and managed, but she's starting to sweat, her focus breaking as her fight-or-flight response begins overtaking her reason and she wonders if she's really never going to see the cute neighborhood stray ever again, never going to eat another tulumba, never going to get to apologize to her mother, _Mom, I am so sorry I left home to become a mercenary,_ but maybe she was never meant to do that anyway.

Either the terror or all of her petty regrets are showing on her face, because Reborn laughs. "You look pathetic."

"Why are you even here?" she groans, "You're an assassin, right? There's no one to kill."

"No, but one of my usual clients wants the same document that your client does. One of us has to lose, I'm afraid."

"You don't have to act all mysterious, everyone knows you're Vongola's dog."

"A position which has quite a few perks and only rarely requires me to stoop so low as to perform these retrieval jobs, which I'm sure you're familiar with due to your abysmally low success rate."

"Look," Kovilka says, trying very hard not to lose her cool, "The way things are now, this could go either way. Even if your reflexes are better than mine, I'll slit your throat the moment I think you're about to stab me in the back. We're both going to bleed out on the floor here."

"Then how about a compromise?"

There's a pause. Kovilka tries to figure out if she really looks like she was born yesterday. "I don't think so."

"Why not?" Reborn pushes, smirking a little wider now, much too widely for someone in as much as danger as he is, "You just said yourself that neither of us is likely to get out of here alive, so let's make a deal. Give me the document and we both walk away."

She doesn't even dignify that with a response. If, for some reason, he actually doesn't shoot her the moment he gets a chance, she's still got to report the failure back to her client, do the walk of shame home, and try to find another job and hope her reputation hasn't taken a terrible blow.

Reborn apparently assesses this as a refusal to cooperate, because the next thing she knows, he's closed the inches between them and pressed their lips together. Kovilka is so startled that she almost falls over, but manages to keep on her feet when Reborn slips away from her and the man takes several large strides to where she set the folder on a coffee table at the other end of the room. She aims in all of two seconds, giving him just enough time to put his heel down on the table with enough force to flip it onto its side, and the bullets lodge in the thick, expensive wood.

She's standing between him and the only door in and out of the room, but there is a window behind him. Considering they're on the third floor, she doesn't think he'll jump. She steadies herself with a few deep breaths, keeping her aim trained at the table, listening for any movements as she inches herself towards the desk and file cabinet in case she needs cover. She moves around it just as she hears the click of the safety being turned off.

She hears him laughing a moment later and peers around the edge of the file cabinet. "You certainly didn't give me much time," he says, "I'm used to getting a few more seconds out of that."

"I'm offended that you thought you'd be getting any more time than what I gave you. Do you regularly harass female hitmen?"

"Don't feel special, I've done that to plenty hitmen, and not all were female."

"_Plenty_? How many are we talking? You don't even ask for a history? I'm surprised you haven't caught something."

They lapse into silence again, running low on patience for further banter. Reborn breaks it first. "Your youth is a benefit to your physical attributes, but it works against you as a lack of experience," he says, "But I'm guessing you're too stubborn to take on a mentor or find a regular employer."

"What, you're not good enough? Vongola wants more private hitmen on a leash?" Kovilka shifts her weight, growing uncomfortable from her rigid posture behind the file cabinet. She glances around the side to make sure he still hasn't moved. "I'm not stubborn. I just don't like the mafia."

"You don't like the mafia?" he repeats incredulously, "I'm sure you've noticed by now, but the best employers are mafia. I can't imagine you haven't learned to at least pretend to be polite in front of them." There's another pause. "This document isn't of use to either of us, anyway."

"I'm not about to take your word for it."

"Fine." A hand appears at the side of the table, and the folder is slid halfway across the floor. "Go ahead and see for yourself."

Kovilka takes a deep breath. It just isn't fair. Not only does she run into the same assassin three times in a row, but he's also an insufferable jackass who acts like she's an idiot. If he thinks she's going out there, he has another thing coming.

Glancing up at the lightbulbs over his hiding place, she takes careful aim. "Why are you so nosy, anyway?" she asks, "It's not any of your business how I choose to work."

"I guess I have a soft spot for hopeless losers," he chuckles, "I've tutored a few of them now. I thought it would be a nice change of pace to mentor someone who's not starting out with literally no talent, but you're-!"

She'd thought about waiting a few more seconds, but in the end, she shoots out the lights right then. Reborn inches just out of cover, and Kovilka uses every second, tearing out from her hiding place, and grabbing the document in her free hand as she slides along the floor. They exchange fire briefly while they trade places, and the window behind her shatters. She thinks she grazes his arm, but he still makes it to the other end of the room and out the door, gone like he was never there, only his insults lingering in her ears.

Her heart is beating a million times a minute. Kovilka leans back against the wall, still in shock and disbelief that she's survived a third confrontation with him, even if this was the only one to escalate as far as it did. She had to have been lucky-he's not known for missing shots. Happy to be alive, she doesn't think on it too much, instead looking down at the folder in her hands and opening it with a triumphant smile until she begins closely reading through the contents.

* * *

><p>"A list of Donna Marcelli's front businesses are not included in the file," Kovilka says uneasily, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as the negotiator who hired her glares at the document, "But there are other useful things in there. Lots of numbers. A sample of her handwriting."<p>

"It's a default spreadsheet with fake numbers and a grocery list," the negotiator says.

"I still got it for you."

"I suppose you did."

She hesitates. "So."

The man sighs heavily, closing the manila folder and tossing it in his briefcase, probably because he feels bad about throwing it away in front of her and just plans to shred it later. "Kovilka," he says in a patronizing tone, "You understand that we can't do anything with this. Literally nothing. We can't blackmail the Marcelli claiming we know what sorts of things their boss stocks her refrigerator with."

She shrugs. She would like to point out the positives, like they know what kinds of foods she likes and could potentially poison her if they're patient and willing to perform a more delicate operation, but she doubts the negotiator would be receptive to advice at this point.

"If we need anything else, we'll let you know," he says in a way that suggests he actually won't.

"Oh," she says, watching his back as as he walks away and holding in the anguished cry that wants to come out. What he doesn't understand is that she really needs the money and she's already tired and frustrated and doesn't want to deal with Reborn again. But the man is gone in moments, disappearing into a crowd of passersby, and she's left alone and trying to keep herself together.

She walks home.

It's a long walk, but she doesn't mind so much. She needs to clear her head and be outside a while longer anyway, needs to figure out what she's going to do next. Despite Reborn's jeers, she knows she's at least competent. She hadn't messed up any jobs before he showed up. Even though the last three went poorly, the clients weren't any big names, and her reputation is still salvageable. She stops briefly at a patissiere on her way, buying discounted cookies from yesterday.

She sees one of the neighbor's children, Ciro, playing tug-of-war with a beagle on the dirt road and smiles when he turns to wave at her and comes running, the dog hot on his heels. "Hey, sis!" he calls excitedly, having long ago adopted her as his own, "Are you going to come play today?"

"I'm sorry, I can't," she tells him, though manages to bring a smile to his face once again when she hands him the bag of cookies. "Make sure to share with your sister, alright?"

"I will, I promise!" He yells a, "thank you!" over his shoulder as he runs up the hill, the beagle nipping at his heels. Kovilka smiles and goes the same way, watching as the homes of her neighbors peek up over the horizon. Ciro's mother stands in the doorway calling him for dinner. The Russo's garden across the road is bright with marigolds in full-bloom, vines creeping up the sides of the house. She sees Mr. Salvay, one of her elderly neighbors, sitting on his front porch, jumping to his feet as she passes, a basket of fresh vegetable in his hand.

"Oh, grandpa, you didn't have to," she says as he comes to greet her, handing the basket to her.

"I did," he tells her, "Because you don't eat well. You buy salty garbage instead of groceries."

"I promise I'll do better," she says, and even though he shakes his head, he's smiling.

Kovilka is thankful for these people, her neighbors who have taken her in as one of their own, the elderly couple who think of her as the granddaughter they never had, Ciro and his family who always watch for her to make sure she comes home at night and worry when she doesn't. She doesn't know what they think she does, a foreigner who moves to the Italian countryside by herself, but they never ask and she's happy to never tell them.

She wonders how they'd treat her if they knew. Ciro would never be allowed to see her again. The Russos would never want her to come anywhere near their house, let alone take care of their garden when they're gone. And Mr. Salvay, who she knows hates the Italian underworld for claiming both of his children, would hate her, too.

Kovilka doesn't feel bad lying because if these people reject her she has nowhere else to go, so she keeps up the illusion of being a normal young woman trying to find her way in the world. She keeps the smile on her face until she gets to her front door. She unlocks it, steps inside and says very quietly, "I'm home," to nobody.

Two weeks until the bills are due.

This time, she was just unlucky, but if she sees Reborn again, she might just have to shoot him on sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Back in school! Last semester, I went on hiatus once classes resumed, but I've got a really light class load this time around, so the only interruptions should be for big tests.**

**Some of these chapters in the beginning are a little shorter than my average. Once everything's set up they'll probably even out.**

* * *

><p>Despite being desperate enough to take another document-fetching job, Kovilka manages to find a higher-paying infiltration mission through her network of her associates, though hesitates to call the number scribbled on a sticky note that had hastily traded hands on a busy sidewalk when she sees that the name written above is "Basil."<p>

Kovilka may not like the mafia, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know anything about them. If anything, it's pushed her to learn as much as she can. So she knows this name, and she knows that it's tied to CEDEF, which means it's tied to Vongola, which means Reborn is probably going to show up, laugh at her, and run away before she can even put a bullet in his head. When she stops to think about the situation, though, it doesn't make much sense. If Reborn is so closely tied to Vongola, why wouldn't the Don have just asked him to do the job rather than start asking around for somebody else? For whatever reason, this operation requires an additional party, and Kovilka would spend more time thinking and worrying about it if her bills weren't due in two weeks, so she makes the call.

It only rings one and a half times before someone picks up with a clipped, "Yes?"

"I'm interested in the job," Kovilka says, thinking the beat of silence on the other end must be because of her terrible accent.

"Ah. Kovilka, right?" the person on the other end asks, "The negotiator told me you'd be available for briefing tonight. Is this correct?"

"It is."

"Perfect. Briefing is at seven. If you have pen and paper ready, I'll give you the address."

She scrambles to find a pen that works and flips over an old bank statement, making sure she heard him right once after writing it down. When her contact hangs up, she cleans herself up, dresses up a little to look presentable, and spends the rest of the time anxiously taking apart and putting her weapons back together. It's been a little while since she's had a job of this nature. Retrieval and delivery missions are mind-numbingly straightforward. Maybe she can make a few blunders when fetching grocery lists or whatever other bullshit she usually gets stuck with, but with a more complicated job and allies of the Vongola as her employers, she can't afford to screw this up if she ever wants to work in Italy again.

* * *

><p>She arrives downtown at six-thirty, takes the elevator up to the tenth floor of the high rise, and counts the doors on the right side of the room before she reaches the one her client told her the meeting would be in. She takes a deep breath, pulls at the hem of her skirt and picks lint off of the lapel of her suit jacket, but before she brings her hand up to knock, someone's footsteps in the hallway stop just behind her and an unfortunately familiar, deep voice says, "Well, well, well. Look who decided to become a mafia dog."<p>

"I'm no one's dog," she snaps, but then wonders why he's there, and how he would know she has a job related to the mafia. "Are you...here for a job, too?"

_Please,_ she thinks, _please for the love of god, say no._

Reborn doesn't answer. But the corners of his mouth turn up in a cruel smirk, and he doesn't have to.

Pretending to a be a gentleman, he holds the door open for her, saying, "After you," and she weighs the pros and cons of leaving before she decides to suck it up.

There's a long, dark wood table in the middle of the room lined with chairs, but only one person sitting on the other end, dressed in the standard-issue mafia black suit and tie. He's got a young face and dirty blond hair that's a little longer than she expected. "Thank you for coming," he says, and his smile seems genuine as Kovilka takes her seat, trying to keep focused despite Reborn taking the one right beside her, probably only to make her nervous. No matter how many times she tells herself that he wouldn't kill her here, in the middle of a meeting, her paranoia begs to differ. "Don Vongola sends his thanks for your help," the blond goes on, "My name is Basil, and I'll be your outside contact for the duration of the mission. If you need some information or if the situation gets out of hand, let me know, and I'll do what I can. Now, onto the mission."

A folder is set on the table and Kovilka pulls it closer, half-offering it to Reborn by opening it between them. It's full of photographs of several prominent, wealthy politicians and their families, blueprints of a very large building, a picture of a flash drive with long lines of text, and two handwritten invitations to a gala. Basil doesn't speak for a moment, maybe to give them a minute to look everything over, before saying, "As you already know, this operation is to be handled delicately. Don Vongola would prefer no casualties, and we would prefer you remain incognito as long as possible. Ideally, you will get in, get the flash drive, and get out, though extra information gleaned from other attendees would be a nice bonus."

In hindsight, she probably should have paid attention to the job details before signing up, but then she might have talked herself out of it and she can't afford to do that right now. Really, though, this isn't so bad. Even with Reborn breathing down her neck waiting to see her screw up, she's done infiltration jobs before. She can handle this.

Basil gestures towards the invitations. "Reborn, you will be attending as Terence Valentino, an investor from Milan. Kovilka, you'll be Melania Cardinale, his fiance."

Kovilka's eyes fly to Reborn and he looks to her, and though they share an expression of surprise momentarily, he's the first to recover, smirking just a little bit.

She can't handle this.

"Any questions?" Basil asks, and Reborn answers in the negative when Kovilka continually stares down in silence at her feet, still trying to decide if the job is worth doing. It is, of course, and she should be glad that they're on the same side this time, because that means she can't possibly fail, but she both fears and loathes him in about equal amounts and isn't looking forward to having to work with him.

"Alright. You're dismissed. Be sure to plan accordingly," Basil says, and Kovilka can't get out of the room fast enough.

She doesn't hear Reborn following her, but is hardly surprised when his hand clamps down on her shoulder hard enough to bring her to a complete stop. "So, Kovilka," he begins, pausing as if to emphasize his smugness at having that information now, but she doesn't give him the satisfaction of a reaction. So he got her name from someone. What does he want, a reward? "You didn't even read the job description, did you?" She turns to face him very slowly but doesn't answer, staring up with a defiant frown. He looks like he's going to laugh. "I wasn't sure before, but now I'm certain. Are you going to back out?"

"Of course not," she snaps.

He only shrugs in response. "The gala isn't for five more days. If you change your mind, I'm sure we could find someone to take your place."

Kovilka glares, but she knows she can't possibly look menacing when he's a head taller. "You seem to think I'm a complete novice, but I have been doing this for a while."

"I'm not sure how long you kids consider "a while" to be."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "What is your problem with me?"

Despite the seemingly innocent question, Reborn reacts immediately and physically, and Kovilka finds herself shoved against the wall, the older assassin caging her with one arm beside her head and his face leaned in close. His eyes are the color of coal, but they hold no warmth. "Why do you keep taking jobs like these?" he asks, "Running errands and stealing documents and complicated things you have no business meddling in, when you could be doing what we do best; putting a bullet in someone?"

She's afraid to answer. Reborn stares down at her for a moment longer before a small, teasing smile appears on his face.

"Oh...is it because you can't?"

Kovilka is blinded by a flash of white hot anger and she shoves him almost violently, managing to put some space between them and push off from the wall, staring him down even though he's above her. "Don't fuck with me," she says lowly, and walks away before he says something else to make her angrier.

If Reborn follows her to her car, he doesn't say anything nor does he make his presence known, and Kovilka gets in, speeds out of the business complex parking lot, and gets home in record time. She hopes she looked angry, because she was, but she was a lot more afraid than she was mad. She thinks Reborn only said it to piss her off-and surprise! It worked-so he probably thinks he just offended her pride as an assassin or something and will leave it be. Maybe it's a bit too optimistic to think that, but she still holds onto the hope.

The thing is, he was right, and he absolutely cannot know that he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Kovilka realizes she doesn't own anything formal enough for a wealthy man's gala a day later and goes into town to shop. She shouldn't really be surprised when she and Reborn just _happen_ to run into one another. He's wearing the same suit and fedora he does while working and carries himself the same way, too, making the clerk who was about to ask if she needed any help back away as he approached.

"I was hoping I'd catch you here sometime," he says, and she turns to give him her undivided attention. Even with them working on the same side, she still isn't going to be caught with her back to him.

"How did you know where I'd be? I've never shopped here before today."

Reborn glances towards the clothing rack she's been looking at. "This is the cheapest place you can find clothes appropriate for the event, and I get the feeling your budget is tight."

_I get the feeling,_ as in, _you suck at your job._

"Excuse me for not wanting to spend anything more than what is absolutely necessary for work," Kovilka says, half-turning away from him so she can keep looking without losing sight of him, "I suppose your closet is full of Armani or something?"

He chooses not to answer, instead taking a step closer and prompting her to move further away. "I'm not sure how we're going to make a convincing couple if you can't stand to be within three feet of me," he says, quiet enough that the rest of the people in the store can't hear.

"You'd be surprised. I'm a great actress when I need to be."

"Then prove it."

She glances at him with a brow raised, but before she can even voice a question, he takes a quick step towards her, wraps an arm around her waist, and flags down one of the clerks who's been hovering nearby. "Excuse me," he says, suddenly adopting a charming smile even when she can still hear the smirk in his voice, "My fiance and I are attending a formal event in just a few days, and we'd like some help picking out a dress."

"Of course," the clerk says, smiling at Kovilka, who forces herself to smile back with her whole face so her eyes don't say, help me. "Do you have some idea of what you'd like?"

"Something simple and at least knee-length," she says, smile widening as she glances up at Reborn and leans against him a little, "And I'd like for us to match; he'll be wearing a red tie, so I would like to be in red, as well."

His eyes narrow a bit in amusement, and his hand tightens at her waist. "You don't have to do that, darling," he says, and she inwardly cringes.

_Any sweeter and you'll be catching flies,_ she thinks, though when she glances back at the clerk, the woman is smiling at them like she thinks it's cute.

"I think we can find something like that," she says, and leads them further into the store. Kovilka keeps waiting for Reborn to let go of her waist, but he never does, and she doesn't bother to look at him again, knowing she'd just find some sort of smug expression. "Now, you have some options, depending on the formality," the clerk says as she begins pulling dresses from the rack. Kovilka tries to pay attention, but Reborn starts to idly stroke her side like they're a lot more familiar than she wants them to be. "I know these are in season now," a dress is presented to her, sleeveless with frilled ends, and she takes it into her arms without complaint, "And these have been popular, too. And if you don't mind going floor-length, then this one might be good. Do you have a preference?"

She decides to look back at Reborn again, saying, "I think I should try these on. Only if you don't mind, dear."

She knows which one she wants already; she's holding it on her other arm. She expects-and hopes-for him to be impatient or at least frustrated for wasting his time when she clearly knows which one she'll buy, but he nods, still smiling with infuriating tranquility, and says, "As long as I get to see what you look like in each."

She breaks character then, unable to stop the blush that rises to her cheeks, but the clerk is still beaming and apparently taking her to be shy, so she silently follows the woman back to the changing rooms, glancing back one last time at Reborn who takes up a spot on one of the couches outside, offering a wave and a sly grin.

She checks the tags before doing anything else, scowling at the three-digit price on the first. It's the sleeveless one with the ruffles and a bow around the middle, and when she puts it on and looks at her reflection, she's glad she didn't plan on buying it. Even with flat sandals on, she's still a tall woman, and the dress just isn't flattering on her.

"Everything alright, dear?" she hears the demon waiting outside call, and takes a deep breath to steel herself, smiling once again in the mirror to make sure she looks more shy than homicidal, and steps out. Reborn is leaning back on the couch, legs crossed, looking up at her with startlingly serious consideration, though she supposes they both have to look good. "Well?" he presses when she doesn't say anything, and she tugs at the bottom of the dress, a bit self-conscious.

"I don't think I look good in it," she says honestly, and could mistake the smile she receives as genuine if she didn't know any better.

"I don't think there's a dress that can take away from your beauty," he says, "But it's up to you." And _there's_ the charm she's heard so much about, finally showing itself at the most inopportune times. She practically runs back to the dressing room, taking a minute to sit down on the tiny bench in the corner to collect her thoughts and scold herself for blushing like a teenager, imagining Reborn probably trying to contain his laughter outside. She doesn't want to drag this out anymore, and takes the dress she actually plans on buying; sleeveless with a tie that goes around the back of the neck, longer in back than in front. Closer to floor-length, it looks much better on her than the shorter one, and she tries to look confident when she goes back out to show Reborn.

He sits up slightly when she returns and puts his phone in his pocket, apparently in the middle of a text message, though he shifts his attention quickly. "This is the one I want," she tells him.

He stands from the couch and she holds her ground when he comes forward. "You don't want to try the others?"

"No." She can't quite make her smile reach her eyes, hoping he won't insist. "This is the one. I'm sure of it."

"I won't argue," he says, "You look stunning."

Kovilka's eyes dart to the front of the store, where the clerk who had been helping her is busy with another woman who just came in. "Can we stop now?" she asks quietly, "Nobody's watching anymore."

"Why?" he challenges, and she hesitates a moment before failing to come up with a reason that doesn't sound like a surrender before turning and going back to change. Reborn's hand falls on her shoulder to stop her. "I wasn't acting when I said you look stunning," he says.

Kovilka feels her face growing warm again. "Can we not make this..._weird_ before we finish the job?"

"And why would it be weird?"

"Well, we'd...I mean, we're working together," she says, trying and failing to sound like an adult.

"So you've never had a no-strings-attached casual relationship?"

"That is none of your-!"

"It's okay if you haven't," Reborn says, the smirk she's used to seeing returning to his face, "But don't you want to try something new?"

She shrugs his hand off of her shoulder. "It's complicated, and I don't want to explain myself to you," she says, apparently with enough finality that he's quiet for a minute. He stares at her like he has something he wants to say or maybe like he's trying to figure something out, but in the end, he lets it go, and she relaxes in turn.

After changing back into her casual clothes and gathering up the dress, she makes her way to the counter and the clerk hurries over to the register. She makes a bit of small talk while ringing her up and Kovilka slips back into her role easily, disguising her wince when the total is displayed as a small cough. She's still digging through her purse for her wallet when she sees a card trade hands and looks up to find Reborn paying for it. She stares up at him, eyes hard, and he only smiles back sagely. Not interested in making a scene in front of the clerk, she waits until the transaction is finished and they're out the door, but before she can say a word, Reborn cuts in, "Don't look at me like that. How do you think it would've looked if I made you pay for it yourself?"

"It doesn't matter," she tells him, "We're never going to see that woman again."

"I doubt we'll choose to see the people at the gala after it's over," he shoots back, "Regardless, quitting halfway through just because you're almost done is sloppy work."

Although his tone is somewhat patronizing, it's a lot closer to advice than his usual remarks, so she decides to agree this once. "Fair enough. See you in a few days."

"That's it?" he asks, "No kiss goodbye?"

The 'not-quitting-halfway-through' is still ringing in her ears, but she's pretty sure they can get away with just a hug and that this is just him giving her a hard time. Fine, then, she thinks, let him give her a hard time, she can handle it. She comes a step closer and hesitates. Being on the tall side, she's used to being at eye-level with most guys, but she has to look up to meet Reborn's gaze. She puts her hands on his shoulders-probably a bit stiffly from the way the corner of his lips twitch-and rises to her tiptoes to give him a peck on the lips.

Reborn is having none of that.

The next thing she knows, he has his arms around her and his lips are crushed against hers, kissing like means to devour her. Kovilka is frozen for only a moment before she begins to react, wrapping her arms around his neck and nipping at the corner of his mouth, and she hears a small growl come from him before he pulls away. Despite the brief kiss, they're both red-faced and staring at one another, though Reborn breaks the silence first with a chuckle. "You're just full of surprises," he says, "You're sure you don't want to try?"

"Do you invite all of your business partners to bed?" she asks, "And I'm sure. I'm not interested."

"What if I ask again after the job's over?"

Kovilka pauses. "Sure," she says, "You can ask." And she'll give the same answer.

"If you think making me wait will make me lost interest, you're underestimating me."

"Oh, so you're the type who likes to chase?"

"I don't chase," he says, "If you want it, you'll come back on your own."

Kovilka shakes her head a little bit, but she's smiling. "I don't know if your perseverance is attractive or annoying."

"The former," he assures her.

* * *

><p><strong>Next time: The gala finally rolls around.<strong>


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys! I wanted to thank everyone who left reviews. I really appreciate it!**

* * *

><p>Kovilka has met few people in the world more perceptive than the Merlo children. In the time it takes her to lock the front door behind her and go towards the garage, they've spotted her from their front yard and run up the road to her.<p>

"Where are you going?" Ciro asks, his younger sister Sara clinging to the back of his shirt and staring up at her.

"Sis is pretty," she says, and Kovilka smiles at her.

"I'm going to a friend's party," she says, "Everyone who goes has to dress up."

"Are you going with your boyfriend?"

She pauses, almost asking him to repeat what he'd said, putting her hands on her hips. "And what makes you think I even have a boyfriend?" she asks.

"Because you're going to a party," Ciro says, sounding very sure of himself, "And no one likes going to parties alone."

"Well, yes, but why can't I just go with friends? Why does it have to be a boyfriend?"

Ciro frowns. "Because we're your only friends, and we're not going."

She's momentarily caught off-guard by the brutally honest answer, and might've scolded him if he hadn't been right. Instead, she sighs. "You're close, but you're not quite right," she tells him, "It is a boy, and he is very handsome, but he isn't my boyfriend."

"Yet," Ciro says, grinning cheekily.

She imagines his precociousness gets him into trouble from time to time, but she can't help but indulge him. "Alright, alright," she says, "I have to go or I'll be late. You two better go inside, it's getting dark."

They run back towards their house, chorusing, "bye, sis!" and she waves until they're in the door.

* * *

><p>Kovilka parks in one of the city ramps downtown and, despite arriving ten minutes earlier than their agreed meeting time, she doesn't wait more than two when Reborn shows up in a sleek, black Mercedes Benz. "I could've picked you up from home and saved you a trip," he says.<p>

"This is fine. I don't live in the city, so it would have been a lot of back and forth for you." Climbing in and closing the door behind her, she changes the subject. "What sorts of things should we expect tonight?" Reborn glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and she scoffs. "And yes, I read the job details thoroughly."

"Then you know about as much as I do," he says, "Signore Tosell is suspected of being involved with some of Vongola's rivals, but the Don wants proof before taking action. That being said, the man himself isn't any threat, and other than standard security around the mansion, we shouldn't run into any trouble. I was thinking we should split up; one of us will mingle and try to pick up whatever rumors are circulating, and the other can look for the flash drive." The highrises of downtown give way to quieter streets, but the night sky is again alive with artificial light when Reborn turns into a private driveway, and Kovilka ducks to look through the window at the tall towers of the mansion that loom overhead. "Careful," Reborn says, "Your inner, uncultured pauper is showing."

They're greeted at the door by a man who asks for their invitations and carefully reads them over. "It's good to see you, Signore Valentino," he says at last, smiling cordially to Reborn, "It's been some time since you last graced us with your presence."

"Yes, well," Reborn says, one arm sliding casually around Kovilka's waist and pulling her close. She's ready for it this time, though, and doesn't stumble, making a point to smile up at her "fiance" when he does the same. "I've been making some changes to my life."

"Ah, yes," the man says, gaze moving to Kovilka, "And it is a pleasure to meet you, Signora Cardinale. I've heard good things about you."

She covers her giggle with her hand modestly and follows Reborn inside, coming into a coldly-colored entrance hall, white marble and deep blue oriental rugs, a double staircase ascending to the second floor on either side. Kovilka tries not to gawk at everything, only affording a sliding glance at even the enormous, crystal chandelier hanging overhead, not wanting to look as out of place as she feels.

Reborn grip on her loosens as soon as they're safely inside. "Be sure to smile, darling," he says quietly, not that anyone is going to hear him over the chatter of the other guests and a soft piano melody coming from somewhere inside. Kovilka fights the urge to roll her eyes.

Before they can work out a plan, a couple, both tall and wearing black, come straight towards them from across the room, the smiles on their faces looking almost painfully strained. "I don't believe we've met before," the man says, eyeing Reborn in a way that suggests he's assessing a threat. He holds out a hand. "Cristiano Sala."

"Terence Valentino," Reborn says smoothly, giving his hand a firm shake. Kovilka meets the gaze of the woman hanging off of Cristiano's arm and instantly regrets it. The glint in her eyes is appraising, and Kovilka isn't sure if she's being territorial or if she suspects they're not supposed to be there.

"Ah, and where are you from, Signore Valentino?"

"Milan."

"Really?" Cristiano detaches his arm from his companion, and says, without sparing her a glance says, "Could you give us a minute, dear?"

She doesn't respond verbally but she looks expectantly at Kovilka, who follows out of pity. They walk just out of earshot of the two men before the woman speaks. "So, you are from Milan," she says, heavy accent and slow speech indicating that Italian is not her native tongue. She's a few inches shorter than Kovilka with her dark hair pulled back into a bun and curled into tight ringlets.

Kovilka hesitates. There's no way she can lie about this; the moment she opens her mouth, it'll be obvious she's a foreigner. "No," she says at last, "That's my fiance's home."

The woman raises a brow. "Is that so? Perhaps we have something in common." She does not smile nor does she offer a hand, but she seems to relax. "Irina."

"Melania." She can't help but notice that she didn't give her last name, but Kovilka supposes it's unnecessary; Irina likely assumes she'll be taking "Terence's" surname soon enough.

"Your fiance has known Signore Tosell long?"

"Somewhat," Kovilka says vaguely, "I've never met him, though. This is my first time at one of his galas."

The woman smiles a little bitterly. "You have not missed much."

"Really?" Irina frowns and Kovilka backtracks, trying to get the other woman to trust her. "I'm anxious to get back to Milan. My fiance and I tend not to travel, even domestically; we have our hands full with business at home." Kovilka has an entire cover story and history for a fake investment firm, and is almost disappointed that she won't have to use it when Irina seems to relax again.

"I see," she says, "Then you and your fiance are not interested in business here in Sicily?"

"No."

"It will be easy for you to make friends with these two-faced vipers, then," Irina says, gesturing around them towards the other mingling couples sipping their champagne and laughing. "They are all looking for a way into Tosell's back pocket, my husband included. Fierce competition here."

Kovilka is momentarily surprised at the woman's harsh phrasing. "Vipers?" she laughs, lowering her voice a little, "You've had bad experiences, then?"

Irina leans in, a hand on one side of her mouth to shield her words from eavesdroppers. "It is the women more than anything," she whispers, "Their men are cruel, but they are monsters of another sort. They are all pretty faces who parrot the words of their husbands, but they want power more than anything. They will do much worse than kill to make their men Cosa Nostra so they can share in his inheritance."

Kovilka hesitates. "Cosa Nostra? The mafia?" she repeats uneasily, acting as though she's unsure, "Does Signore Tosell have such connections?"

Irina smirks. "That is the only reason we are here."

Kovilka glances over her shoulder to see if Reborn is still enraptured in conversation, but he's gone. Irina follows her gaze. "Your fiance went up the stairs," she says, not frowning but not smiling, "With another woman."

She almost laughs, trying her very best to look confused or disbelieving. _Well, of fucking course he would,_ she thinks. Reborn has something of a womanizing reputation to go along with his charm and a long line of broken hearts behind him if the stories are to be believed. Kovilka isn't surprised that he would pretend to cheat while pretending to be engaged, but she is almost disappointed. Almost. "Oh, he's flirtatious, but he doesn't mean anything by it," she says, and the look of pity Irina gives her would probably make her burst into tears if she were actually engaged to him.

"You don't love him anyway," Irina shrugs, "Just wait. Once he is busy with his own mistress, he'll hardly notice if you are gone late some nights."

Kovilka's eyes widen. "I'm sorry?"

The other woman smiles. "Another thing we have in common."

Suddenly uncomfortable, Kovilka excuses herself to find her fiance. Wherever she turns, she sees people grouped together in twos and threes, standing and giving strained smiles as they exchange pleasantries and backhanded compliments. Kovilka has always wanted the money of the upper class, but she isn't so sure she wants anything else that goes with it.

At the top of the staircase is a room with the doors wide open, shelves full of hundreds, maybe thousands, of books lining the wall, and a piano in the middle of the room. Reborn is nowhere to be seen, but there is a man sitting on the bench, hands flying expertly over the keys and producing a calming melody.

"Excuse me," she says as he finishes. The stranger takes his hands off the keys but doesn't look up at her. "I couldn't help but notice that you were by yourself."

He's younger than she expected, maybe younger than her-he can't be more than twenty-but he's dressed just as finely as everyone downstairs. He's just a bit shorter than she is with light brown hair gelled out of his eyes. "I'm not one for these sorts of things," he says with a tone that implies disinterest.

Kovilka comes a little closer. "That was Chopin, wasn't it?"

It does the trick; he looks at her, surprised. "It was. You enjoy classical music?"

"A bit," she says. 'Enjoy' is not a strong enough word to explain her library of CDs that much of her income goes towards expanding, enough that she's started removing books from her shelves to make more room. If she moves, she'll need more boxes for them than for her clothing. "I don't enjoy these sorts of things, either," Kovilka says and comes to stand beside the bench. "Melanie Cardinale."

When she offers a hand, he kisses the top and smiles up at her. "Victor Tosell." She must not have hidden her surprise well, because he laughs. "Yes, I am the son of our benevolent host. But I would prefer if you don't think of me as such. You seem like much more pleasant company than the other guests." He scoots over a bit on the bench, leaving enough room for her, and she goes to sit beside him. "You have the most peculiar accent," he says, "I can't quite place it."

Kovilka smiles as she tries to figure out the best answer, but Victor seems to sense her discomfort. "Pardon me, I didn't mean to ask such an intrusive question." His smile widens. "I don't mind if you wish to remain a mystery."

Kovilka's thoughts are momentarily derailed as she realizes he's flirting with her. Should she tell him she's there with her fiance? No, she's pretty sure she can use this to her advantage. Obviously, Reborn already is.

"I'm not such a mystery," she says teasingly, "But you are not at all what I expected."

"Why? Because I believe there is more to life than politics and money?" he scoffs, "I suppose I should be grateful for having a comfortable life, but I can only tolerate the social gymnastics for so long. I'm an academic; not a politician or a mafioso, even if my father can't accept that."

Kovilka is fairly certain she has Victor figured out-he's a lot like many of the last generation born into powerful, wealthy families, content but bored, seeking stimulation. Victor is not nearly as petty as she thought he might be, but she still anticipates that he's the type to seek excitement and rebellion wherever it presents itself. She can work with that.

She scoots closer ever so slightly, closing what little space was between them before. "I understand how you feel," she says, shyly averting her eyes, "My family does not appreciate anything that doesn't involve making a profit. Life isn't difficult, of course, but it isn't very interesting."

Victor takes the bait and swallows it whole, turning and daringly placing a hand over hers. "Well, Signora Cardinale," he says quietly, eyes sparkling with mischief, "Shall we make it interesting?"

Kovilka hesitate only a fraction of a second, only because she isn't sure how far she intends to take this. "What did you have in mind?" she asks slyly.

He stands from the bench, still holding her hand, and leads her out through the open doorways and down the second floor hallway. Two of Signore Tosell's security move in to stop them, but Victor stands in front of her. "We're together," he says, and Kovilka watches the guard back off, parting to let them through and further into the mansion.

Access to guarded rooms with no surveillance? _Jackpot_.

They go down the hall about halfway before he drags her into one of the rooms on the right side, opening the door and shutting it discreetly behind them. It's a guest room with a spacious, four-poster bed and dark wood furniture. On top of the nightstand sits a jewelry box, and Victor opens it.

"My father is not the sort of man to settle down," he explains as he lifts a necklace with a pearl pendant out of it, "Many women move in here, but they do not stay long. He always finds something of their to hold onto, though."

_Charming_, Kovilka thinks with a scowl but she quickly replaces it with a smile when Victor comes forward, fingers brushing the back of her neck as he attaches the clasp with surprising deftness. Kovilka wonders if this isn't the first time he's done this. "It suits you much better than the original owner," Victor says, and Kovilka is about to thank him when she hears something clatter behind her and jumps. Her gaze flies to the closed doors of the walk-in closet, and Victor crosses his arms over his chest with a sigh.

"Bianca," he says sternly, "You know better."

There's a long silence before one of the closet doors slowly creaks open, and a young woman peeks out at them, tugging the strap of her dress from her side back up to her shoulder. Her hair is the same shade as Victor's and is half-tied in a messy bun, long, wavy strands falling down her shoulders. "Aww," she whines with a pout, "It's not like I knew you were going to use this room, too." She looks appraisingly at Kovilka, who is becoming increasingly embarrassed at how awkward this has become.

"My sister, Bianca," Victor explains without looking at Kovilka, his glare still fixed on the young woman as he asks, "Who is in there with you? How old is he? You're not careful enough, if someone saw you-!"

"Who cares?" Bianca asks in exasperation, leaving the closet altogether, "You're not any more careful than I am, Victor, you practically rub it in Father's face."

Her rendezvous partner steps out of the closet a moment later and Kovilka's eyes widen in disbelief. Reborn looks surprised for only a second before he smirks and nods in acknowledgement. "Darling," he says.

The Tosell siblings both look at Kovilka in shock. She smiles back at Reborn. "Hello, dear," she says, "Enjoying the party?"

"I am," he says shamelessly, and sweeps forward, putting a hand on her waist. She inwardly repeats,_ 'I will not make a scene,'_ as a mantra. She's a professional; she's infiltrated parties and pretended to be all sorts of people before, and nothing has ever ruffled her feathers enough to jeopardize the mission. Reborn is not going to be an exception. "I'm sorry," he says suddenly, face much closer than it was a second ago, "I shouldn't have left you all by yourself. That was thoughtless of me."

"I'm sure you'll make it up to me," Kovilka says with the sweetest smile she can muster.

Uncaring of their audience, Reborn's hand slides lower to her hip and his other hand comes up to stroke her cheek. "I absolutely will," he murmurs, and Kovilka couldn't disguise the shudder that runs through her body if she tried. "Apologies, Bianca," he says without looking at Signore Tosell's daughter, "I'm afraid my fiance and I will be taking our leave."

"That's quite alright," Bianca says, sounding awfully smug, but Victor is speechless and pale beside her. Kovilka can only imagine what kind of relationship they must think she has with her 'fiance.'

Reborn doesn't stop when they're back on the ground floor, arm locked with Kovilka's as he keeps up a brisk pace for the front door. "You don't want to chat with any of the other guests?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "No. I've seen everyone I need to."

He's in a hurry. Either he found the USB and wants to leave before anyone notices it's missing or he's anticipating trouble. Kovilka hopes it's the former but doesn't get the chance to ask until they're back in the car.

"Do you have it?" she asks anxiously as they're pulling out of the driveway. Reborn wordlessly reaches into his suit pocket and presses something into her waiting hands. She lets out a sigh of relief when she sees the USB. "Where was it?"

"Signore Tosell's bedroom," he says, "Bianca and I went there first."

_First_, Kovilka repeats internally, deciding she won't ask what he means by that because she doesn't need to know. "Did she see you take it?"

"No."

"Good." She gives the USB back to him.

"Hear anything useful?"

"Signore Tosell is in the mafia business for sure," she says, "Apparently, all of his associates would like to be, as well."

Reborn is quiet for a moment. "Do you know what the omertà is?" he asks.

"Um. Yes?"

"I'm going to have to ask you to make an oath, right now, that you will not use any information you used tonight against anyone in the future."

Kovilka rolls her eyes. "I didn't hear anything scandalous, just what we were looking for."

"It doesn't matter what you heard," Reborn says.

"I've told you before I'm not mafia. There's no reason for me to-!"

She hears a click, and suddenly there's a gun pointed between her eyes. Reborn's eyes are still on the road, but she somehow doubts he'd miss. "That is precisely why you need to start practicing omertà," he says coldly, "We don't take kindly to informants, and I can't guarantee your safety if you get involved in that kind of thing. If you can't agree to keep your mouth shut, I might as well shoot you now. Anyone else who comes after you won't be kind enough to kill you quickly."

"I get it," Kovilka snaps, "I swear to keep everything I heard tonight to myself. Happy now?"

He answers by lowering his gun. She exhales in relief. "You really know how to treat a woman."

"In fact, I do," he says, "You just haven't approached me the right way."

"The right way?" she repeats incredulously, "I doubt it would make a difference. You couldn't go five minutes without giving me a backhanded compliment."

Reborn glances at her out of the corner of his eye. "I think you might be surprised."

Kovilka looks away. "You can keep your surprises. This is the last time I have to deal with you."

He doesn't say anything to that. The rest of the ride is silent, and Kovilka finds herself growing anxious the closer they get to the parking lot. She keeps wondering if she's making a mistake, if she'll have regrets later and wonder constantly what it would have been like to take him up on his offer, but she can never bring herself to say anything out loud. Kovilka isn't some shy, chaste maiden, but she's certain she has significantly less experience than Reborn, and her upbringing always makes these kinds of things difficult for her.

Reborn slows to a stop and Kovilka sees her car up ahead. This is her last chance, she knows. She should says something, flirt back, anything, but instead, she opens the door and steps out with a nod in farwell. She shouldn't be disappointed that Reborn didn't try to make a smooth move like lean in for a kiss because she made it clear she wasn't interested and he's respecting her wish for space. And yet, for some reason, as she watches Reborn drive away, she finds herself feeling a little regretful. In all likelihood, they'll run into each other again. They'd already ended up on opposite sides of the same job three times before this.

But for now, Kovilka tells herself not to mope, because for the first time in a while, she is absolutely not concerned about her rent.


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much to regular readers northpeach and LD-2015 for leaving comments! **

**The rating has been bumped up for language and in anticipation of violence.**

* * *

><p>Kovilka wakes up early and takes her time getting ready, passing a cluttered mess of papers on her desk on her way out of the shower and into the kitchen. She's been doing her homework on Reborn over the course of the last week-though she will vehemently deny any and all allegations that the stacks upon stacks of information she's collected should hint towards obsession. While she hasn't taken another job since then, she hasn't just run into Reborn around town anywhere, despite hoping-not hoping, more like wondering, really, or so she tells herself-that she'll see him.<p>

Truthfully, though, she's pretty sure the moment she runs into him she'll scowl and wonder why she wanted to see him again, because he has a tendency to be a pain in the ass.

With more than enough to cover her bills, groceries, and maybe a few more CDs because she realized she doesn't have any Brahms and that's just a crime, her mood has significantly improved, and her neighbors have noticed. Once she's dressed, she practically skips down the road to the Merlo residence where Ciro and Sara are waiting for her with their little backpacks. "Sis is happy again today," Sara says, pulling at her sleeves.

Ciro grins cheekily. "Are you going to tell us about the party today?"

"No," Kovilka sighs, walking with them down the dirt road, "And I'm not going to tell you tomorrow, or the day after that, so stop asking."

"Is it because you did grown-up things? I told mamma that you won't tell us, and she says that's why." Kovilka shoots him a warning glance. So that's why Mrs. Merlo had told her to "bring him by sometime so we can meet him," while covering her laughter with her hand as though it was some scandalous secret.

"What grown-up things?" Sara asks.

"Nothing," Kovilka says.

"What things?" Sara whines, and Kovilka glares at her brother.

"Look what you started."

He gives a long-suffering sigh as though he's innocent. "You're not old enough to know yet, Sara."

Kovilka stifles a laugh thinking, neither are you, and looks away when Ciro pouts in her direction.

The dirt gives way to gravel at the end of the road, and Kovilka checks her phone for the time. The bus should come soon. Sara bends down and pushes the white rocks around with her fingers. "Hey, sis," Ciro says suddenly, "Why did you come to Italy?"

Surprised by the question, she blinks at him. "Why do you ask?"

"There's a girl in my class who's new this year, and she came from India," he says, "She doesn't seem really sad. She says sometimes she misses home, but there are also things she doesn't miss, too. But I think it would be hard to go somewhere far away. I think I would be sad." He looks up at her. "So then I thought about sis. You're really sad most of the time. Is it because you had to go far away from home?"

Kovilka takes a minute to consider her answer, aware of Ciro's large, curious eyes watching her. "You think I'm sad most of the time?"

"Well, ever since the party, you've been happier," he notes, "But before that, you were usually sad. I remember. Whenever you left in the morning, you would drag your feet, and you never looked like you wanted to go anywhere."

Ciro's observational skills have never ceased to amaze her, though she figures the adults in the neighborhood have noticed as well. They just have the filter to restrict them from commenting on it. Kovilka laughs a little, quietly and sadly. "You're right, Ciro," she says, "It's hard to go so far from home. There are things I don't miss, but there are lots of things that I do."

"But if it makes you sad, why did you come here?" His eyes light up with an idea. "Is it because of work? The girl in my class said that's why her parents came to Italy. She said they didn't have, uh…" he struggles to remember the exact words, "'Very many opportunities,' I think."

"It has something to do with that," Kovilka nods.

"Really? So what does sis do in Italy?"

"I work at an office downtown, remember? I already told you that."

"No, you told mamma that, and I think you were lying."

She frowns. "Why not?"

"Because you don't look like you work in an office."

Kovilka rolls her eyes. "And what does a person who works in an office look like?"

"Not like you." Ciro crosses his arms over his chest and taps a finger to his chin in thought. "You look like you do something more exciting than that." She isn't sure if this is just the lens of fantasy that children see the world through or a frighteningly keen intuition. "Don't worry, I won't tell mamma," he says with a grin as the bus pulls up, and Kovilka gives him a playful glare.

"I don't know if I can trust you with anything, Ciro."

He takes Sara's hand and waves to her as he climbs on the bus, and Kovilka waves back, watching the bus drive away, spitting gravel out behind it before she heads back home. All this time, she's been worried about somebody noticing her odd schedule, never once thinking it would be an eleven year old boy who would pick up on it first. She isn't too worried about it, though. Unlike his parents, Ciro can be bribed into silence with snacks from the bakery.

Something about her conversation with Ciro makes Kovilka decide she needs to not come off as a perpetually depressed shut-in, and in the interest of staying on top of things, she decides to line up another job. While she has to begrudgingly admit that the mafia pay far better than her usual clientele, she's no longer desperate for work and deliberately avoids any job posting that looks like a request from CEDEF or Vongola or any other family.

She wonders if she'll run into Reborn again. She has kind of mixed feelings about it-on one hand, the constant flirtation did good things to her self-esteem, but on the other, she'd like to regain her previous nearly one-hundred percent success rate from a time before he screwed up every job she took. Before, she'd been more agitated than anything, but only now does she realize how lucky she really was. Reborn didn't just get handed his reputation for no reason; according to one source, it takes him about half a second to steady his aim enough to guarantee an accurate hit. _Half a second._ It makes a chill run down her spine to think that, at any point during their three meetings before the gala where she'd let her guard down for quite literally less than a second, he could have killed her. The fact that he didn't despite how much of an inconvenience she was to him-and she's still skeptical that she really inconvenienced him all that much-doesn't really make her feel better because he could have any number of reasons for doing so, and she doesn't think she knows him well enough to determine why. She's known people like Reborn before, and she knows that she can only ever get to know them as well as they want her to know them.

One of the requests on the computer screen catches her eye, something from a private individual rather than a mafia family with much higher pay than she expects for that sort of thing. She sends a message expressing interest and gets a text message not a moment later, asking where she wants to meet to discuss the details. Kovilka catches herself smiling at the idea that she can restore her reputation and stay on top of her rent, and thinks that things are really looking up.

So, she tells herself, really, it's better that Reborn doesn't show up and ruin this.

* * *

><p>Her client is a man who runs a pawnshop as a front for his black market business, and he's looking for someone to steal something for him. The thing he wants is a locket necklace that the current owner wears all day every day except when sleeping. That's not a problem; Kovilka has done plenty of breaking and entering, and she has a long history of thievery. The problem is the owner, who her client tells her is Donna Marcelli, as in the mafia mob boss who she's been asked to steal from before, lately unsuccessfully thanks to a certain hitman who shall not be named for fear of conjuring him. Kovilka has yet to actually see Donna Marcelli's face, but she's done enough jobs that have her name attached to them that she's starting to wonder what this woman did that she's everyone's target.<p>

Kovilka resolves to perform the heist as soon as possible, and goes home briefly to change, cargo pants, a t-shirt and a vest, all black, tying her hair back in a bun. She glances out the window down the road before going to her car, making sure Ciro isn't outside before she leaves just in case, and drives a block away from the address her client gave her. Donna Marcelli's home is modest in comparison to most mafioso compounds, a two-story red brick home with a gated fence and neatly-trimmed bushes, but the men in suits patrolling the grounds leave little room for speculation. Kovilka crouches behind the foliage in the front yard of the neighbor across the street and spends a few minutes watching them walk around the perimeter and starts making a plan. The stone fence surrounding the building is high but not insurmountable. There's a healthy tree that looms over the fence near the back. Kovilka waits a minute longer for the guards to make one more round, and when she sees her opening, she takes it.

She sprints across the street, staying in the dark spaces between the street lights, and scrambles up the tree, her gloves protecting her hands from the roughness of the bark, and crawls over the sturdiest branch hanging over the fence. It takes a moment to position herself correctly, but she manages to drop down safely inside the fence, and she ducks behind the fountain when she sees more guards shining flashlights around. A yard full of decorations is more than enough for her to work her way to the back of the house, and she spots an open window on the second floor. It takes some doing, but she manages to use a light fixture on the wall as leverage, and crawls up through the window.

It leads into the bathroom right over the tub where there's still standing water, and she nearly falls in. Arms hanging onto both sides of the window frame, she catches herself and carefully maneuvers herself over it. There's an enormous mirror and sink across from her, a shower with glass, see-through doors, and a wooden door that leads out into the hallway. There's nowhere to hide if someone comes in, and since the lights are on, she's assuming someone will be coming back soon. She peers cautiously into the hallway, watching for Donna Marcelli's men, but she doesn't see anyone, and makes her way down to the large double doors slightly ajar at the end of the hall.

There's a woman standing with her back to Kovilka, rummaging through a large oak chest, and Kovilka almost panics, dropping immediately to the ground and crawling under the king-size bed against the wall, pulling the bed skirt down to cover her. She hears the woman go through the drawers a while longer before shuts them, and the lights dim. The bed dips to Kovilka's left. "Hello?" the woman says, "Could I trouble you to drain the bathwater for me? It slipped my mind, and I'm already in bed." There's a pause. "Thank you." There's a slight clatter as she sets down what Kovilka assumes to be a phone. She tries to keep her breathing a shallow and quiet as possible, because it's completely silent in the room, and she assumes Donna Marcelli is directly above her and could probably hear a pin drop. Despite her shoulders aching from her position crammed beneath the bed, she waits a few minutes, listening to Donna Marcelli turn pages in a book until she finally turns off the lamp beside her, settles into bed and her breathing slows. She moves very slowly, trying not to disturb the bed as she crawls out from underneath it, and peers cautiously over the edge.

It's hard to make out any details in the dark, but Kovilka can see that Donna Marcelli is an older woman, probably somewhere in her fifties, deep wrinkles around her mouth. Kovilka doesn't ponder too long over what she must be like, slowly rising to her full height beside the bed. The double doors are still just slightly open, but she doesn't know the layout of the house and would doubtlessly run into trouble if she tried leaving that way. There's a door leading to the balcony parallel with the bed, and Kovilka supposes that would be her best bet for an exit, except it goes out to the side of the house and she isn't sure how she would get back over the fence. If someone comes in, though, she'd have to use the closet, because she isn't sure she can risk moving around under the bed again without waking Donna Marcelli or getting situated quickly enough. Keeping her options in mind, she glances at the chest of drawers and the jewelry box sitting on top, creeping over as quietly as she can and opening it.

There are five necklaces, but none of them even vaguely resemble a locket. Kovilka glances back at the sleeping woman again, certain she hadn't seen her wearing it a second ago. Things had been going so smoothly-maybe too smoothly. The thought makes her panic. She hadn't planned on being set up. But why would this be a set up? Would it have been on Donna Marcelli's part, or her client's? Were they working together? Hearing footsteps approaching the room, Kovilka feels her heart beating a million times a minute and makes a quick decision; she leaves the jewelry box open and cracks the balcony door before squeezing into the closet between a pair of fur coats. She squints through the slits in the doors, watching as Donna Marcelli's door opens silently and someone comes into the room, glancing around and going straight to the jewelry box. She can't see them too well but she can make out a black suit and figures it's one of Donna Marcelli's guards.

And then she notices the fedora.

She inhales through her nose and lets the air out slowly, trying to release some of her frustration. _Of fucking course._

Reborn notices the slightly-open door and takes the bait, opening it all the way and walking out onto the balcony, and Kovilka moves swiftly and silently, counting the steps it takes to reach him and reminding herself, half a second, _half a second is all it would take for him to…._He starts to turn around when she's within arm's reach, and she lunges in desperation.

Reborn's head hits the cold tile and he lets out a grunt, his fedora falling to the side, and she presses the muzzle of her gun to the side of his head while searching him for his, setting it a safe distance behind her. She straddles his legs and leans down, whispering, "You wake her up and it's over," hoping he won't call her bluff. To her relief, he remains completely still, but he's brave enough to glare at her. "This is a setup, isn't it? You knew I would come. You're holding onto the necklace for her."

He doesn't say anything.

She reaches into his suit pocket with her free hand and her fingers close around something cold and metallic. She pulls a golden locket on a chain out and nods in satisfaction, tucking it away into her bra, because she is not going to take any chances with him. Reborn is an omen of bad luck; she wouldn't be surprised if all six of her pockets had holes in the bottom just because he showed up. She stands up slowly, reaching behind her to take his gun, and keeps her aim and her gaze trained on him a she walks around towards the edge of the balcony. "Don't move and don't make a sound," she says lowly, glancing back over her shoulder once to survey the yard. It's a bit of a drop, but she's so close to home she's willing to land in the closest rose bush. She'll have to use one of the yard decorations, probably the fountain, to get back up over the fence, and she'll have to do it fast.

_Half a second. Jesus Christ,_ she thinks.

She takes a deep breath, lets it out, and leaps over the edge of the balcony.

She's barely landed when an alarm goes off and she hears footsteps coming from all directions, and makes a mad dash for the fountain, vaulting onto it and leaping with her arms outstretched to catch the wall. She struggles to pull herself up for a moment, hurried by the adrenaline pumping through her veins and gunshots behind her, and tumbles over the other side, not bothering to try landing carefully. Kovilka runs down the block, keeping out of the light as best she can, before she finds her car parked below a street lamp on a side street, but she freezes when she notices something that she probably wouldn't have bothered looking for if she hadn't been dealing with Reborn. There's something wrong.

Someone slashed her tires.

She lets out an inarticulate sound of rage before turning on her heel and running because she is not going to screw this up, she will not let Reborn ruin this job, she will get paid _and she will be happy, goddammit!_

Her legs are starting to ache from the short spurts of exertion, but she glances back at the car once thinks she can see Reborn's silhouette somewhere behind it, and she manages to run faster. She crosses through yards, hops fences, does anything and everything to put obstacles between them and try to throw him off of her trail, and eventually leaves the quiet suburb for the crowded downtown area, using the crowds to her full advantage. She sees a train station up ahead and slides down the handrail, fishing her card out of her pocket and barreling onto the platform, just sliding through the closing doors of a train about to leave. The people in the car all turn to stare as she lays on the floor panting but she doesn't even care.

She got the locket, she's going to get paid, and she's still alive. She considers the night a success.

* * *

><p>Kovilka doesn't even go home, afraid that something will go wrong, and calls her client to arrange to meet him at his shop. It's a little after midnight and she's exhausted, panting and sweating and hands shaking as she reaches into her shirt and fishes out the necklace, ignoring the strange look he gives her as she hands it to him.<p>

"Done," she says.

"I'm impressed," he tells her, "Most people would've taken a few days to get ready."

"I'm not most people." Truthfully, Kovilka knows she should have really taken the time to obtain blueprints and figure out a better plan, but she doesn't like waiting around any longer than absolutely necessary. It makes jobs a little more nerve wracking, but the clients always appreciate the immediate service.

Kovilka watches the man open the locket and his smile falls, and her own does a second later. "Let me guess," she says, "You wanted something inside the locket."

"Well, it's…."

Her fist falls on the desk between them and the man jumps. "You didn't tell me there was something inside," she seethes, "You told me there was a locket, and that's all. If you're thinking about withholding payment because of this, I swear to god, I-!"

"No, no," he says quickly, "You're right, I didn't tell you, and that was on purpose. You'll still get paid."

"The full amount?"

"Yes."

She relaxes immediately, arm falling limply to her side. "Great. It's been a pleasure working with you," she says tiredly.

Before she turns to leave, he pulls a little square of paper from the inside of the locket. "Wait. I think this was intended to go to you."

She raises a brow and the paper trades hands. She squints to read it.

_Better luck next time._

It's snarky enough that she thinks immediately of Reborn, but she recognizes the handwriting from a grocery list she accidentally stole a while back. It was written by Donna Marcelli. There's no doubt in Kovilka's mind now that her visit was expected, but she still has questions. Her client was obviously disappointed that whatever he wanted wasn't in there, so it's not likely that he set her up, so how did Donna Marcelli know she was coming? And why the hell did Reborn have to be there? Were the Vongola keeping tabs on her or something?

Too tired to be angry, she crumples up the paper and tucks it into her pocket and stumbles out the door of the pawnshop. She doesn't think the trains are running anymore, which means she has a long walk ahead of her, and her legs hurt so bad she could die.

She tells herself not to die; she's just getting stabilized financially, it would really suck if she couldn't enjoy it.


	6. Chapter 6

It's early in the morning on a Saturday and Kovilka is humming along to the notes in the first movement of Vivaldi's Spring, a stack of new CDs piled on her desk beside her computer. The music isn't quite turned up loud enough to drown out she sound of her shredder as she feeds paper after paper into it, watching candid photos of Reborn's face get sliced into pieces with a hint of satisfaction. There's a man who owes her a favor who had agreed to try to dig up a little information on her sometimes-enemy sometimes-ally sometimes-fake fiance, and she's committed each new thing she's learned to memory so she can promptly shred the reports. Having that kind of information just lying around isn't good.

Apparently, Reborn is somewhat well-known for his animal interpretation skills, and is a member of the Italian Bird Society. Less relevant but nonetheless eye-catching is the veritable paper trail of previous lovers, an uncomfortably long list; most of whom, Kovilka notices, are also hitmen. She lingers on that particular bit of information much longer than she should because she's still having dreams about how the conversation might have gone if she'd taken Reborn up on his offer, and she's also occasionally feeling guilty and wondering what her mother would think.

She left home against her mother's wishes to make breaking and entering her formal profession and still can't get past her conservative upbringing. Go figure.

The knock at the door startles her, because even among her neighbors, only a few people ever actually come over. The only people who would be up and moving this early are Mr. Salvay and Ciro, and since the former doesn't move from his porch much and the latter has a tendency to show up unannounced on her doorstep looking for someone to watch him, Sara and their dog so their parents will let them play in the field, she's pretty sure she knows who it is. She turns the volume down on her computer a bit and hurriedly puts the last of the stack in the shredder, which lets out a few worrying noises in protest, but she ignores it and rushes to the door.

"You know, Ciro, one of these days I'm actually going to be busy," she says as she opens the door, the last word dying on her lips when she looks at Ciro, because the last time she saw him, he definitely wasn't taller than her, nor did he wear crisp black suits or fedoras.

Reborn raises a brow in question. "Ciro?" he repeats, amusement evident in his voice, "Should I be jealous?"

Kovilka shuts the door almost halfway, as if it's going to protect her from a world-class assassin. "No. He's the son of one of my neighbors."

He doesn't look convinced.

"He's turning twelve," she says dryly. He doesn't say anything else, and she sighs. "Are you going to tell me what you're doing here, or are you wanting me to take the initiative and ask?"

Predictably, he doesn't give a straight answer. "You're not easy to find," he says, "I noticed you don't have a home phone, nor is your address listed in any of the ordinary channels I would expect to find it in. However, you do have a cell phone, a credit card, and you don't do anything to disguise your IP address. I couldn't tell if you were trying to be cautious and just gave up halfway or if you're trying to look like someone who just doesn't have themselves together." He pauses and leans over slightly, glancing past her into her entryway. "Although it seems more like you genuinely don't have yourself together."

"What do you want?" she asks, hoping a more direct question will yield a more direct answer. His eyes narrow and he smiles a little in a way that tells her she's going to regret asking.

"I was hoping we could talk business for a bit," he says, "And that you'd let me in."

"Do you know the word please?"

"You wouldn't agree if I asked nicely, so I thought we'd skip that step." He shrugs. "Really, I'm doing you a favor by trying to make this short. Your neighbors are the nosy sort. They've been staring at me since I drove up."

Kovilka's eyes widen and she growls, "Get in here," ignoring the triumphant smirk on his face as he waltzes in and slams the door shut behind him.

Reborn stands in the entryway a few feet from her, watching her every movement as she locks the door. "They don't know what you do for a living, do they?"

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "No. They don't."

"I don't see any advantages to this sort of arrangement," Reborn says with a frown, apparently concerned, and Kovilka cuts him off.

"I don't need you questioning my life choices," she says firmly, "I chose to live here, and I chose not to tell them. I know it's a risk, and I'm fine with that."

Reborn puts his hands up, smiling innocently. "Excuse me for wanting to offer friendly advice."

"There is nothing friendly about the way you give advice." She crosses her arms over her chest and leans her back against the door. "Now what's this about business? You have another job for me?"

Reborn glances over his shoulder towards the kitchen and living room. "Let's sit down to talk," he says as if they're on good terms with one another, and Kovilka just wants to get him out as soon as possible, so she stalks past him into the living room and takes her spot at her desk, watching him make himself comfortable on her couch. She waits for him to start talking, but he's apparently preoccupied with looking around the living room, eyes lingering over the still life paintings in heavy silver frames. "I'm surprised," he says, "You have good taste. And this is a lot of space for someone who lives alone."

She shrugs, choosing to ignore the first comment. "I'm just renting it. It's old and out in the sticks, so it was in my price range. About that job…."

"It just seems strange," Reborn says, not taking the hint that she'd prefer a change in topic. Kovilka inwardly scoffs; it's much more likely that he doesn't care. "I'm sure you could've found something in your price range closer to town if you'd been conscious about what part of the city you looked in. I think you prefer having spare rooms."

She stares at him. "Have you ever noticed that you try analyzing me every time we meet?"

"I believe I'm usually successful."

"I'm sure you'd like to think so. Now can we talk about the job?"

Seemingly satisfied with the level of discomfort he's caused, Reborn nods. "Ah, yes. It's fairly straightforward this time around and probably more within your comfort zone. It's a hit on a Senator Loyola's mistress."

Kovilka hopes she's quick enough to catch herself before showing her reluctance. "Those aren't really two-person jobs."

"I need a lookout," Reborn says.

She hesitates. "Why?" she asks carefully. Something about this doesn't feel right to her. With everything she knows about him, she's pretty sure he can handle being his own lookout. If he can't, then she doubts this job is something she should even be tackling.

"I'm planning for the worst. Senator Loyola has correctly assumed that his wife is aware of his affair and would like his mistress dead, and I don't doubt he's hired somebody to keep an eye on her." Kovilka doesn't really want to get involved. She looks at him warily, trying to figure out the best way to decline that won't leave room for argument, when he adds, "I'll give you a cut. Not too much, since you're just a lookout, but we're looking at four figures."

Kovilka inhales and holds it. She takes a good, hard look at Reborn who has a cat-like smile on his face, probably because he knows he's won. She lets out a long sigh. "All you need is a lookout?" she asks, "That's it? Because I was just going to relax today, and I'm not looking for a whole lot of trouble."

"That's it."

A minute later, she's throwing on a jacket, putting her gun in her purse, and heading out the door a step behind Reborn. She turns around for half a second to lock it behind her, and when she looks back again, there's Ciro staring up at her, the dog running around his legs. His eyes are big and he's not even trying to disguise the way he's staring at Reborn, who stares right back at him curiously.

"Ciro," Kovilka snaps, "Don't stare at people."

He looks at her then, but doesn't apologize. "Sis, who is that?" she asks as if Reborn isn't standing right there.

Kovilka glances at Reborn, whose amused smile is stretching into a full-on shit-eating grin. "This," she says slowly, "Is...ah…."

"Renato," Reborn says smoothly, hunching slightly to offer his hand.

Ciro, two and half feet shorter, grins and takes his hand. "I'm Ciro. So you're Kovilka's boyfriend, right?"

Kovilka is pretty sure her entire body turns lobster red in embarrassment and she resists the urge to hide her face in her hands, instead laughing nervously and saying, "Ciro, don't say things like that."

To her horror, Reborn's smile widens into a grin that matches Ciro's, and he says, "You're absolutely right."

Ciro looks like he can barely contain his excitement. "I knew it! So you took her to the party, too. Are you going to move here? Is she going to move away? I would miss her, but Sis has been happier since she met you, so I wouldn't mind, if she came back to visit. Are you going to get married?"

"Ciro," Kovilka says loudly and with enough seriousness that he looks up, wide-eyed, at her, "That's enough. Re...Renato and I have to go now."

Ciro frowns and looks disappointed but reluctantly walks back down the driveway and down the road to his house, glancing back every few steps as if hoping to catch them doing something. Reborn unlocks his car and Kovilka hurriedly climbs into the passenger seat without looking at him.

He starts the car but doesn't move for a moment, and Kovilka can feel his eyes on her for a solid minute. "I'm your boyfriend?"

"He came to that conclusion on his own," she says reflexively, "I've tried to explain to him that it isn't like that, but he's made up his mind."

"Hm." Reborn glances over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway, hand on the shoulder of Kovilka's seat. It shouldn't make her blush, but it does, and she feels ridiculous. "He said you've been happier."

"We can talk about literally anything else," she offers with a hint of desperation, "Anything at all."

When they're turned back around on the road, he glances at her briefly. To her surprise, he actually listens. "Do you still have intense, irrational hatred for the mafia?"

Kovilka raises a brow. "No. I just don't like them."

"Okay. Let's talk about that."

"There's not really anything to talk about."

"Sure there is. Why do you dislike them? Is it personal?"

Kovilka shakes her head. "Not for me. I was just told I should dislike them."

Reborn pauses. "You're going to have to explain that a little further."

"Why? Isn't that normal? They're criminals, of course I'm going to be raised to dislike them."

"You're a criminal," Reborn points out.

Kovilka struggles to find the right words. "Well, yeah, but...it's….that's just how my mother raised me."  
>"Any particular reason she would single out the mafia specifically?" he asks, "You still haven't told me where you're from, but you're obviously not native to this country. I'm not sure how likely it is that your mother would have had contact with the mafia."<p>

"Again with the analyzing," Kovilka mutters, "We have mafia-types in my country, too, but I doubt my mother ever met any. I grew up in the same little village she did, a pretty good distance from anything resembling a city. Lots of mountains. Mama and I collected firewood in the winter. She would play the gusle, and my sister and I would dance. We were a family of weavers. It wasn't exactly the kind of life that would attract a lot of attention."

Reborn is quiet for a little while after she finishes, and turns to look out the window, realizing that her accent, though normally present, is especially heavy as she loses herself in her reminiscing. "And what about your father?" he asks.

Kovilka shrugs. "I don't have one of those." She knows what question is coming next, so she goes ahead and answers it. "Dead, a long time ago, and no, I don't know how. We don't talk about it. It happened before I could remember him, anyway."

Reborn doesn't seem convinced, but he nods. "I ask because I have an associate who's interested in you."

"I don't think I do work high-profile enough to attract mafia. I mean, I've dealt with Donna Marcelli several times now, but I manage to screw those up almost every…." She hesitates and looks over at Reborn. "Speaking of which." He doesn't say anything. "We could talk about how she knew I was coming, and why she had to choose you of all people."

"Omertà," Reborn sighs, "I held you at gunpoint to get you to agree to uphold it, and you're still going to ask questions like this. Unbelievable."

"Alright, fine," Kovilka sighs, "Nevermind. Back to your associate. Why are they interested in me? How did they even hear about me?"

"I might've mentioned you once or twice," Reborn says nonchalantly, "You're fairly young with quite a bit of potential and a decent success rate when I'm not involved. Of course, I also mentioned your irritability and general uncooperativeness."

"Thanks."

"We have in common our fondness for hopeless cases," Reborn says, "Though he's infinitely more patient than I am."

Kovilka leans forward to look ahead down the road. "Where the hell are we? Shouldn't we be in town by now?"

"We're not going into town. I had Senator Loyola's mistress agree to meet with me out where no one would see us to negotiate prices on some incriminating photos I didn't take."

"Devious."

The trees become thick and the road ends, and Reborn stops the car. Kovilka askes her handgun out of her bag. Reborn glances out the window a few times and unbuckles his seatbelt, but he doesn't actually get out.

"When is she supposed to get here?" she asks.

Reborn doesn't answer. He looks away from the window and stares hard at Kovilka. There it is again, she thinks, the feeling that there's something weird going on.

"What the hell is going on here?"

"You really don't know anything about politics," he says.

She waits a beat for him to explain what he means. "I'm not sure why that's relevant."

"It's important," Reborn says, "Even if you insist on working independently, it's essential to have at least basic knowledge of the powers at work in a country, especially in its underworld and central government. It'll save you a lot of trouble-if you want to join the big leagues, you know who to get in good with, and if you don't, you know who to avoid. I can't believe you've survived this long."

"What's your point?"

"There isn't a Senator by the name Loyola," Reborn says.

"Are you kidding me? You dragged me all the way out here to chew me out for being dumb enough to fall for it? Can I go home now?"

He actually glares at her for that. Kovilka gulps, feeling a bit the way she does when she's on a job and Reborn walks into the room hired by somebody else. "I dragged you all the way out here as a favor to a former student and friend," he says, "He's willing to take on just about anyone, but I personally think he'd be wasting his time."

Kovilka would like to be the bigger person and react calmly, but she knows she's an emotional person, and Reborn is great at pushing her buttons. "You seem pretty eager to keep shoving unwanted advice down my throat when I've made it clear that I don't have any interest in taking any."

The space between them is rapidly disappearing in anger, but Kovilka isn't embarrassed anymore. "Kovilka, I could give a shit whether or not you want my advice," Reborn says lowly, "The problem is more fundamental than that. You're in the wrong line of work."

"Like I haven't heard that before," she snaps, "I do just fine, Reborn, I was doing fine for several years before you came along, and I'd still be doing fine if you hadn't barged into my life and ruined my reputation."

"I'm not talking about the bullshit jobs you keep taking. I mean the real ones that you've been avoiding. The ones that should be easy." His eyes narrow. "You can't kill people. That's why you never do jobs like that. You hold that gun because you want to scare people, not because you'll actually use it."

"I can't believe you're going to throw this shit at me again-!"

"Prove it," he interrupts, "Shoot me."

Kovilka's eyes widen. She's sure she didn't hear him right.

Reborn's expression is taunting, and maybe disappointed. "You can't."

"Are you testing me or something?" she asks, "There's no way you're going to just let me shoot you." She presses a hand to her head. "Oh my god, did you take me out here to kill me? Oh my god."

"I might if you don't do something."

"Give me a fucking second to think," she hisses, panicking. What could Reborn possibly have to gain by doing this? It seems more and more likely that he's finally gotten tired of her getting in the way and that he's going to shoot her the second she draws her weapon and bury her out in the woods and no one will ever know what happened. The thought is terrifying, and she grows more and more fearful by the second as Reborn continues watching her with a mix of suspicion and disgust and other dark things, and her hands are wrapped tightly around the handle of her weapon, sweating and shaking. There's no way this can end well for her. She's dead. She's fucking dead.

"You're overthinking this," Reborn says, and shoves her, hard, her head knocking into the window behind her. "I could have killed you ten times by now. How long are you going to wait?"

"What the fuck do you want from me?" she cries.

He doesn't answer.

His hands close in towards her throat, and a million things fly through her mind at once. How long it would take to die, how it would feel to have the life literally choked out of her, how her lungs would burn and her chest would ache and she would just flail helplessly and the last thing she sees would be his goddamned face.

_"It does not take long," her mother told her once, the two of them standing at the edge of a lake at sunset, the look in her mother's eyes distant, not seeing anything that was around her but rather something from long ago, "The water steals your breath like hands around the throat. It does not even take five minutes. You want so badly to breathe but there is no air. All that water fills your lungs, and it hurts so bad, more than it hurts to struggle against someone else."_

_Her mother glares at the lake._

_"But at least the water has no ill will."_

She doesn't know why she remembers it, nor why she remembers it now of all times, but she does, and her mother's solemn tone and the look in her eyes is as fresh in her mind as it was all those years ago, and she only realizes she's pulled the trigger when Reborn lets out a pained growl.

She's shot him in the leg. Reborn looks surprised but otherwise no different than before, and she doesn't wait for him to say something. She hits the "unlock" button on her side of the car, leaps out, and starts running.

She fucked up.

She knows she did.

She shot him, and she should have finished the job, because if he doesn't come to kill her, then someone he knows will. If she were able to be a regular hitman, if she could just kill people, then she wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. She never should have started working with the underworld if she wasn't going to go all the way. Everyone makes it sound so easy, just aim, shoot, and it's over, but even now, even after everything she's heard about and seen first-hand, even after becoming acquainted with every underbelly and red light district bordering the Adriatic Sea, she still can't do it.

Her mother would be proud.

Well, no, she wouldn't, because Kovilka left her behind to become a criminal.

She sticks to the roads but stays by the tree line and manages to eventually find her way back into town. She isn't so sure going back home is a good idea, since Reborn knows where she lives, but she eventually decides it doesn't matter.

If she's going to die, she wants to spend her last moments listening to Mozart.

* * *

><p>Several uneventful days drag by, and Kovilka is still alive.<p>

She isn't sure why. She tries not to get her hopes up. She rotates through all of her new CDs so she gets the chance to listen to all of them at least twice. She looks up books she's never read online. Eventually, her groceries run out, and she has to go into town, and nothing happens there, either; she doesn't run into any shady characters, there aren't any suspicious cars following hers home, and she makes it back safely. Life in the neighborhood drags on as normal, with the Russo's periodically absent, the Salvays giving her their fresh produce, and the Merlo children giving her heart attacks when they knock on her door in the late afternoon to invite her to come with them to the field.

Arguably, the waiting is probably worse than if he would just show up and get it over with.

She spends a lot of time looking at old pictures. There's a stack she keeps in a folder in a lockbox and she's never dared scan them so she can keep electronic copies because she doesn't think it would be right. A woman with dark hair holding a baby with a very young Kovilka sucking her thumb next to her. The three of them together, all a bit older, smiling at the camera. The woman, hair streaked with gray, with her face turned half away towards the sunset at a lake. It makes her want to go home when she looks at them.

She won't, though. She thinks about going home less frequently now than she used to partly because she's pretty sure she's disowned and partly because the pictures are a romanticized version of the story. She and her mother didn't part on good terms because they had never been on good terms. She has no reason to expect a warm welcome, or a welcome of any kind at all.

She wonders what it would have been like if she had just tried a little harder, if she'd just shut her mouth now and then and gotten along with her mother a little better. She'd still be living in that little village and she never would have gotten to travel or see the things she's seen now.

But she probably wouldn't feel so guilty all the time, either.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks once again to LD-2015, and to You Light the Sky and dark-dreams-of-love! You guys keep me motivated.**

* * *

><p>Kovilka only knows about her father through anecdotal evidence.<p>

She doesn't remember anything about him, nor does she remember his face, and she's never seen a photo of him. She's pretty sure her mother disposed of them all, but she isn't sure why. She used to think their marriage must have been on the rocks because of what a taboo subject her father was, but now and then, her mother would mention him in conversation completely by accident-walking down by the lake, Kovilka had seen a bittern walk by on its stick-like legs and said it looked funny, and her mother had told her, "That's exactly what your father always said about them," and then her eyes would fill with tears. Without even a name to go on, she would have been certain her mother had made him up if not for the pain on her face whenever she was reminded of him.

Ever since he talk with Reborn, more and more things make Kovilka think about her family again, particularly her father and the emptiness left in his wake, something Kovilka had simply taken for granted at the time. She had only ever known what it was like to have one overbearing, unreasonable parent; she didn't want to imagine having two.

Not that she could claim any gold stars herself, with an ongoing history of teenaged rebellion that had extended far beyond her teenage years. To say she and her mother didn't see eye to eye would have been a horrible understatement.

Having become quite familiar with Italy's incredible underground information trade before, it's crossed Kovilka's mind to take advantage of it and try to learn a little bit about her father, but she's afraid of what she might find. The more she thinks about it, the more she wonders about what happened to him, and the more she worries. It shouldn't be suspicious that he died young-they lived in a pretty rural area far enough from any hospitals that all immediate care for accidents and illnesses needed to be done at home-but it still strikes her as strange, partly because of how little she knows. If someone killed him, that makes a big difference. It puts her in a position she doesn't want to be in and gives her a responsibility she isn't sure she can carry out.

For that reason, she thinks she's better off not knowing.

She starts putting the pictures back in their folder again as she hears little footsteps approach from behind. "Who's that?" Ciro asks, peering around her arm, "Is that you when you were my age?"

Sara, who had been sitting on the couch and behaving herself, joins him a moment later, trying to stand on her tiptoes to look over the desk. "Can't see!"

It's faded and grainy like all the rest and shows the same lake that's in several others. Kovilka and a younger girl are standing in water that reaches their ankles, holding their long skirts up in bunches and trying to splash each other with wide grins.

Kovilka hands the picture to Ciro, who holds it very carefully by the edges as if to prove she can trust him with it. "That's me on the right," she tells him, pointing to the girl with long hair tied in a messy, lopsided bun. Sara tugs on Ciro's arm until he holds it so she can see. "And on the left is my little sister."

"Sis has a little sister?" Sara asks, sounding almost excited by the news.

Ciro is staring at her with a frown like he's offended that there's something he didn't know about her. "What's her name?"

"It's Anka."

"Sis hasn't been back home in a long time, right?" Ciro asks, "Do you miss her?"

"Almost ten years now, and yes, I do," Kovilka says, holding out a hand to get the photo back and take a minute to look at it herself. Anka is two years younger. When they were growing up, they'd been inseparable. Kovilka had been a bit like Ciro then, inquisitive and adventurous, and Anka had always been one step behind her. They'd hold hands so they wouldn't lose each other in the woods. If her sister got sick, Kovilka would pretend to be sick, too, so she could stay home with her. When they couldn't sleep, they'd light a candle and make flickering shadow puppets on the walls.

Kovilka hasn't thought about it in a long time. She pretends to cover a cough as she wipes at her eyes. "Are you guys hungry?" she asks when she has all of the pictures back in the folder safely tucked away from prying eyes. "Did you want me to make you something?"

She's met with two enthusiastic nods and gets up to go to the kitchen, fighting the urge to roll her eyes when she hears two sets of footsteps following her over the stone floor. "What's Anka like?" Ciro asks. Kovilka opens her refrigerator and looks for the lettuce, cheese and ham the children had brought with them for sandwiches. Mr. and Mrs. Merlo always insisted that they bring their own food so Kovilka didn't have to use any of her own, and while she usually didn't mind, she hadn't fought them on it this time; her car was still in the shop. As it turns out, Reborn had done a little more than slash her tires, something she tried not to hold against him because it was a job, and she knows he has a reputation to uphold. On the other hand, she's walked all the way back from town twice now, and found it nearly impossible to get out of the bed the next morning, so unless she wants to pay for a taxi, she thinks she can wait until it's a dire emergency to get more groceries.

With the ingredients gathered on the counter, Kovilka begins assembling sandwiches, trying to work around Sara who's standing in front of her trying to see over the counter. "Well, she's pretty typical for a little sister," Kovilka says, "She's small and cute and she followed me everywhere." Truthfully, she wonders what she looks like now. Anka was just a bit older than Ciro when Kovilka left home. She'd be all grown up now. "Actually, Ciro, you and Sara remind me a lot of the two of us."

"Where did you live?"

Kovilka shakes her head and puts the sandwiches on a plate, carrying them back to the living room with the kids on her heels like dogs waiting to be fed. She takes a seat on the couch and they jump on either side of her as they eat. "I already told you that's a secret," Kovilka says.

Ciro frowns, wiping a crumb from the side of his face. "But why is it a secret?" he asks, "I don't care where you're from. Even if it's a bad place."

Kovilka raises a brow. "A bad place?"

"Mamma says you won't tell us where you're from because it's somewhere where bad things are happening, and you're scared we won't like you. But we would anyway, I promise."

She can't help but smile; of course he already asked his mother about this. She has to admit, the whole family seems pretty keen. Under normal circumstances, it's probably most likely that she wouldn't give the name of her homeland because of internal disputes or difficult foreign relations. She wonders if they've already guessed from her name.

"It's not a bad place," Kovilka reassures him, "It's just not something I like to talk about very much. Someday, when I'm ready, I'll tell you."

Ciro is pacified only for a moment. "When will you be ready?"

"Every time you ask, it'll take longer," she warns.

The next thing she knows, they're talking about how their parents promised to buy them a gaming console if they're good at the end of the year. Kovilka agrees to put in a good word for them if they can continue to behave.

* * *

><p>Several days and several jobs later, Reborn and family and all other unpleasant topics are almost completely absent from Kovilka's mind. She's set enough aside that she no longer dreads eventually going to get her car and finding out how much the repairs cost, and she even takes a taxi into town to do some shopping, though she sets a limit to how much she should really be spending, a limit that is slightly disregarded when she spots a CD of Schubert in the bargain bin, and again later as she's leaving the store and is called to try a sample by a woman standing outside of a new patisserie across the street.<p>

The next thing she knows, she's in the shop looking over the little cakes and fruit-covered pastries in the display case trying to figure out which ones Ciro and Sara would like best, and spending the money doesn't really bother her because she's had such a good week. After everything she's been through recently, she feels like she deserves to spend a little and relax.

There are only two people working, one with dark hair carefully putting the icing on a small, circular cake in a spiral, the other a redhead standing patiently by the register waiting for Kovilka to make a decision.

"I've never been in her before," she admits, "It's always really busy in here, so I've never gotten a chance to try anything."

"Take your time," the woman at the register says, not unkindly but not necessarily very warmly either. Kovilka thinks she must be tired; she can't imagine having to handle the hoards of people she's seen come through with a two person team. She doesn't look impatient necessarily, but she's staring at Kovilka intently and it's starting to unnerve her, so she tries to hurry.

"Sorry," she says, "I'm actually not shopping for me. I try to bring back something for my neighbor's kids on my way from work."

The woman's expression shifts, but it's still unreadable. "That's alright," she says, "Are you sure you don't want to try something, though? We don't get a lot of quiet days."

"Okay, you talked me into it," Kovilka says almost immediately, needing no convincing to get herself a pastry. "Could I get two of these little cakes? And I'll take the cannoli for me."

The woman rings her up, pushing a strand of long hair behind her ear as money trade hands, and reaches down into the display case.

"Did you want to eat here or take all three to go?"

Kovilka checks her watch. "I'll eat mine here."

The woman nods and has the tiramisu boxed and the cannoli on a little tray. Kovilka thanks her and goes to sit down, setting her bag of CDs on the table. She picks up the cannoli in a white napkin and glances out at the street through the store window. She pauses when she notices the woman who had been at the register coming back to it from the window, a sign indicating they're closed now hanging there. She goes back to the counter and whispers something to the woman who had been starting on the icing for another cake, causing her to nod and disappear into the back, and then it's just her and the redhead. For some reason, it bothers Kovilka. If she were anyone else, she would probably brush it off as just being paranoid, but in her line of work, listening to gut instincts can be life-saving.

She lifts the cannoli to her face but doesn't take a bite, instead just sniffing it, and almost recoils. There's something strong beneath the sugary smell, something almost rancid. What she thought might be just excess oil is eating holes through the napkin. She glances back at the woman at the register, who's leaning against the counter with obvious boredom. "Excuse me," Kovilka says, getting the woman's attention, "I was just wondering if I could get another napkin."

The woman nods and turns to grab some, and Kovilka stands from the table and hurls the cannoli with as much force as she can at her.

The woman ducks out of the way in the nick of time, and the pastry hits the back wall with an audible splatter. Kovilka's eyes widen when the wall begins to melt around it, and her eyes fly to the woman as she reappears over the counter holding a tray full of foods that seem to be letting off purplish fumes. She tears off her apron with one hand and glares across the restaurant, and Kovilka's heart jumps into overdrive. Tall with long, red hair, a smoldering yet disinterested gaze, and poisoned, acidic food as a weapon of choice.

Poison Scorpion Bianchi is trying to kill her.

She dives under the table just as something dripping tar-like jelly soars over her head, listening to it hiss and spit on the floor behind her. "What's this about?" Kovilka yells, "Did someone take out a hit on me?"

Something lands on the table above her and she hurriedly scurries out of her hiding place as it begins to melt through. "No, this isn't business," Bianchi says with a shake of her head, "This is personal."

The next thing that comes flying in Kovilka's direction doesn't really look like food so much as it does like toxic sludge, and she holds her hands over her head as she runs for cover, wincing at the burning sensation she gets from a few stray drops that rain on her. She barricades herself into the far corner with the nearest chairs and tables and glances through the spaces in her makeshift shield at Bianchi, who's coming out from behind the counter to get a little closer. Despite how loudly her heart is pounding in her chest, Kovilka waits. "Personal?" she asks, hoping for clarification. She's not sure who she pissed off to deserve this.

"We know someone in common," she hears Bianchi say, closer now, and she peers around the edge of her barricade, locating her purse in the middle of the mess that used to be the patisserie. "You shot him in the leg a little more than a week ago. He's been pretty quiet since then."

The color drains from Kovilka's face. There's no question who she's talking about.

"Before that, he talked about you often," Bianchi goes on, her tone dangerously calm, "I won't pretend I wasn't a little envious. Reborn and I used to be romantically involved, but things have changed over the years. In all matters but the bedroom, he's an awful lover."

"I don't need to know that," Kovilka says uneasily.

Bianchi either doesn't hear the statement or ignores it. "We're still close, though, and I can't just turn the other way when somebody does something like that to him. Especially since he seems to like you so much."

"Whoa, hold on, you can't blame me for that." Kovilka thinks she should probably be making a run for her things and the door, but Bianchi hasn't thrown more of her concoctions at her yet, and they seem to be conversing at least somewhat respectfully for now. "He told me to shoot him. Actually, he _made _me do it."

"Why?" Bianchi asks, sounding confused.

Kovilka lets out a growl in frustration. "I don't know! You tell me!"

There's a brief silence. "Probably," Bianchi begins, "For the same reason he had me find you."

"Excuse me?"

"It wasn't a coincidence that you came in here," she says, "Reborn told me you shopped in this area frequently, and he asked me to act like I was going to kill you. I saw you walk by, and I had my coworker call you over."

"_Act _like you were going to kill me?" Kovilka repeats, "If I'd eaten that cannoli, I would be pretty dead right now."

"I might've gotten a little carried away," Bianchi says, and Kovilka thinks she can hear a smile through her words.

Cautiously, she peeks over the edge of the tables and chairs in a pile in front of her and finds Bianchi still holding the tray but her free hand is on her hip. Her face is still hard to read, but she looks a little warmer than before.

"And why would he ask you to do that?" Kovilka asks.

Bianchi glances back at the purse lying forgotten across the floor. "You have a gun, don't you?" she asks, "Why didn't you take it out as soon as you knew what was going on?"

Kovilka frowns tightly.

"It's true." Bianchi's voice is soft and pitying. "You really are afraid to kill people."

"So he talks about me, too?" Too angry to be properly afraid anymore, Kovilka pushes the tables apart and steps out from her barricade, stomping over to collect her things. "Forget it, I don't care why. Next time you see him, tell him to fucking leave me alone. I've had it with his bullshit." She picks up the paper bag with the tiramisu, stares hard at it, and decides she doesn't trust it, leaving it on the floor.

"Kovilka," Bianchi calls, stopping her at the door, "You should know by now that Reborn isn't going to give up. He's interested in you."

"I have no interest in getting between...whatever it is you guys have going on."

"I told you, we don't really have anything," Bianchi says with a twinge of sadness, "Not anymore. I still want you to be careful, and I'm not just telling you this for my sake. You'll probably end up in his bed eventually, and it's in your best interest not to invest too many feelings into it."

Kovilka hesitates against her better judgement, turning to face Bianchi in the ruined patisserie, a little embarrassed to be talking about such a thing. "I'm _really _not interested," she says firmly, "So I don't think that'll be a problem."

"Reborn doesn't pursue people who aren't interested."

Kovilka shifts uneasily. "Why are you giving me advice?"

Bianchi smiles for the first time, just a little, and it's slightly bitter. "Because you remind me of myself," she says, "And I don't want you to get hurt like I did."

* * *

><p>Somehow, Kovilka ends up leaving the patisserie with Bianchi's number saved to her phone.<p>

She's still not entirely sure how, but she supposes she technically made an acquaintance today. She hesitates to say 'friend' because Bianchi isn't exactly warm towards her, but she does seem to be at least concerned for her emotional well being concerning Reborn. She finds herself wondering what kind of history the two of them have and what Bianchi must have felt that led her to reaching out to Kovilka despite her lingering feelings.

It's good to know, really, because it'll keep Kovilka from getting distracted and doing something she'll regret later. Reborn is so good at getting to her, at making her flustered and anxious and yet a little happy about it all at the same time, and she just needs to remind herself of what Bianchi told her so she doesn't get carried away. By now, she shouldn't really want to be involved with him.

And yet, for some reason, she has a dream that night where Reborn takes her home and their hands wander each other's bodies, a dream that she wakes up from covered in sweat and panting and way too hot.

* * *

><p><strong>Sorry about the lack of Reborn in this chapter, but he will be making an appearance next time.<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

**Sorry it's late! I'm going to be at a convention next weekend, so the next update will be late, too. After that, we should be back on track. As always, thank you to everyone who left reviews!**

* * *

><p>The next job Kovilka takes sends her in Donna Marcelli's general direction once again, this time to intercept a package before it reaches her place of residence, and Kovilka is wary every step of the way, fully expecting Reborn to jump out of a tree or something equally ridiculous because it really wouldn't surprise her at this point. But he never does; she gets the parcel back to her client, gets paid, and lingers in town out of a strange feeling that she can't quite put a name to. She'd gotten so used to him showing up that it throws her off completely when he doesn't.<p>

She spends a little time at a bar downtown after the sun sets, nursing the same drink for more than an hour and going through her phone so she can at least pretend she's waiting for someone, and she must look pretty pathetic because the bartender keeps shooting her pitying looks.

She isn't disappointed. She can't possibly be disappointed. Reborn has been the most obnoxious thing to happen to her in years, so why would she be disappointed that he didn't show up?

A feeling she can identify is loneliness, though that isn't sudden; she's been spending more time than usual on her own lately. Running a job smoothly without any banter traded with a smart-mouthed hitman just reminded her, that's all. She scrolls through her contacts, a long list of acquaintances whose faces she doesn't remember that she might've met on her way Italy, people who don't know her any better than she knows them. Bianchi's number sticks out to her as the only person she feels she can talk to normally-honestly-but she isn't sure they're at the stage where it's even appropriate for the two of them to socialize. Against her better judgement, she makes a call.

It rings almost four times, and she's sure it's going to go to voicemail when she hears, "Yes?"

"Um," Kovilka says articulately, because she wasn't actually expecting an answer, "Hi."

There's a long pause. She thinks the other woman might hang up. "Kovilka?" Bianchi's voice comes through with a hint of suspicion. "Why did you call?"

Kovilka drums her fingernails of her free hand against the bar counter. "Well," she says to stall for time as she tries to think of a reason that doesn't sound as pathetic as she feels, "I was wondering, I guess, if you wanted to get a drink together?"

She's asking Poison Scorpion Bianchi if she wants to hang out. She isn't sure how she gets herself into these situations anymore.

"Sure," she hears and it doesn't register for a minute until Kovilka is asked where to meet up.

Not an hour later, the tall, redhead assassin comes through the bar door in a pair of skinny jeans and a half-zipped jacket that's falling off one shoulder. Kovilka makes a mental note to ask where she shops for clothes. "Hey," she says in greeting, and Kovilka returns it with a nod. Bianchi takes the open seat next to her and orders something the color of blood with a slice of lime on the side. She takes a long sip, eyeing Kovilka, and as she puts the glass down, she says, "What's wrong?"

"What?" Kovilka tries to to laugh it off. "Nothing. I just figured, you know…."

"You don't seem the type to call up someone like me for a chat," Bianchi says, "So I'm assuming you've got no one else to talk to."

"Someone like you?"

"Regarding your," she looks up as though searching for the right word overhead, "Hm. Your difficulties with your profession, I suppose. I wouldn't think you'd want to talk to someone in my line of work"

Kovilka shrugs. "It's not like I'm claiming some moral high ground," she says, "But you're right, there aren't a whole lot of people I can talk to. Not openly, anyway." She glances at Bianchi a little uneasily and takes a gulp from her own glass. "Ignore me if this is an offensive question, but I was just wondering...how do you do it?"

Bianchi's eyes seem to glint in the low lighting. "I'm not sure what you mean."

_You know damn well what I mean,_ Kovilka thinks but elaborates all the same. "How do you do what you do for a living and not just shut down? It doesn't keep you up at night?"

Rather than anger, a look of understanding crosses Bianchi's features. She almost smiles. "I'm not sure you'd understand if I told you," she says, "Something tells me we grew up very differently."

Kovilka shrugs.

"My father is a Don," she says nonchalantly, and Kovilka almost chokes on her drink, "He was busy, but he loved me very much, and he did the best he could to show it. I don't want you to get the wrong idea; I'm not desensitized to violence or anything. I just understand the politics of the Cosa Nostra, and I know that sometimes, there are things that just need to be done."

"Don't tell me too much," Kovilka cuts in, "I'm not sure I'm up to return the favor."

Bianchi tilts her head. "When was the last time you told someone about yourself, and it wasn't a lie?"

Kovilka can't hold her gaze. "Don't ask me that."

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to," the woman says with a shrug, "But it might make you feel better."

They both drink in silence for a minute longer before Kovilka drinks down the remaining half of her glass and flags down the bartender. "I need a lot more alcohol before I get into this," she mumbles, and Bianchi hides her laughter behind her hand.

There's something about Bianchi-her eerie calmness, confidence, and sincerity-that makes Kovilka feel like she won't regret telling her anything days from now, a feeling she hasn't gotten from anyone in a long time. When she's tipsy enough to overcome her nerves but not so drunk that she slurs her already heavily-accented Italian, she tells a tale of a little village that isn't on any maps and of a family that fell apart, all of the things she left behind. And when she's done, she cries. It's another thing she hasn't let herself do much lately, and Bianchi handles it with the grace of an aloof elder sister, not coming for hug but maintaining a closeness and resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Do you need another drink?" she asks.

Kovilka shakes her head. "No." She wipes her eyes. "You're not going to pass any of that along to Reborn, are you?"

"God, no," Bianchi sighs, "I hope you don't think we're discussing you behind your back or anything. He's just concerned."

"He has the funniest ways of showing it."

She really does smile this time. "You aren't dead. That's a pretty good sign."

Kovilka leans over the bar, holding her head in her hands and sniffling. "Did he do this to you, too, at one point? Every time I look up, it's him or the goddamned Marcelli, usually both at the same time, making life difficult."

"Actually, he didn't. I'm incredibly picky when it comes to clients, so we've never found ourselves on opposite sides of a job." She pauses. "The Marcelli?"

"I've had more jobs than I care to count that have to do with Donna Marcelli," Kovilka says, "Usually to steal something, usually ending with her being one step ahead and making me look like a moorn. And every time I have to deal with her, I have to deal with Reborn, too. I don't know what the deal is, and he won't tell me."

"That's interesting," Bianchi says absently, "Donna Marcelli doesn't exactly have a lot of enemies, or so I've heard. She's actually part of the Vongola Alliance."

Kovilka pales. She hadn't realized who she was messing with. If Donna Marcelli had ever seriously wanted her out of the way, she's pretty sure she would've brought the full force of the Vongola down on her head. Now she's even more confused. "There's something I'm missing here." She stares down at her second empty glass. "I need to hire someone."

"Hire someone?" Bianchi echoes uneasily, "What, you mean like an informant?"

"Well, yeah. I need to find out more about Donna Marcelli, obviously."

"Hm." Bianchi runs her fingertips across the edge of her glass thoughtfully. "There's probably a better way."

"Better?"

"The omertà," Bianchi says gently, "Hasn't Reborn told you?"

Kovilka rolls her eyes and flashbacks to being held at gunpoint. "Yeah, he's told me. What, am I not allowed to hire informants?"

"You've done a job for CEDEF before. Don Vongola considers most who help him one of his own."

"That doesn't mean I am," Kovilka argues.

Bianchi rubs at her temples, apparently trying to soothe a headache. "You _are_ stubborn," she mutters, and Kovilka wonders if Reborn told her that, too, "If you really aren't going to listen to me, then at least let give you some advice. I know a guy, technically an informant, but if you ask him only for information that has been made public about the Marcelli at some point, then you shouldn't get in too much trouble if anyone finds out."

"I don't understand how this is violating omertà."

"And it doesn't seem you really care that it does," Bianchi points out, taking a pen out of her purse and scribbling on her napkin before tearing off a small square and handing it to Kovilka. "Please do what I advised you to do."

Kovilka almost say something smart back, but she glances at Bianchi and finds her looking at her a bit like someone looks at a child about to do something stupid like shooting themselves in the foot. She bites her tongue and nods. "Okay. Fine."

"Thank you."

"You need another drink?" Bianchi asks.

"No. I probably shouldn't be completely smashed when I make this call or I'll probably forget what you told me."

"Here's another piece of advice," Bianchi says, slinging an arm around her shoulder, "Don't do business if you're anything more than tipsy."

* * *

><p>A week later, Kovilka finds herself in the same bar, this time comfortably alone in the corner, flipping through a report the length of a short novel. True to her word, Bianchi hooked her up with an informant who managed to skirt what was permitted among mafia circles while still staying in the good graces of many Dons. He was a little slimy and charged more than she initially wanted to pay, but she begrudgingly accepted, and he had done as promised. But when she got the information back from him, she had the task of parsing through what was important and what wasn't.<p>

When she heard footsteps across the groaning bar floor towards her table, she foolishly assumes it to be Bianchi happening by. "Hey," she says without looking up, "Sorry, I didn't even think to call. How's it going?"

"Fine, despite being shot in the leg," she hears in a voice that most certainly does not belong to Bianchi, and looks up. Reborn looms over the table, the shadow cast by his fedora hiding his eyes in the dim bar lighting. Not that she needs to see them; he's smirking as usual. "I would've appreciated a call, at the very least."

"You know that only happened because you told me to," Kovilka says, posture rigid and eyes fixed on the hitman for any sudden movements. By now, she's pretty sure that if Reborn announces his presence, she doesn't have to be afraid, because if he wants to kill her, he won't make himself known. It still doesn't help her relax. "So I hope you didn't come for an apology."

"I know better than to expect something like that from you," he says and pulls out the chair across from her, sitting down and swiping half the documents off the table to read. Kovilka tries to reach across for them but he only turns in his chair, hands just out of reach. "Curious about Donna Marcelli?"

"Give that back."

He glances to the side at her and puts the papers back down, removing his fedora a second later and setting it on the table. Kovilka is almost angry at herself for finding him attractive despite everything. "I don't know who you went to for this," he says, "But the information isn't very reliable."

She ignores him and gathers the papers back up in a neat pile.

"Viviana Marcelli," Reborn says, leaning against the table on one elbow and staring directly at her. Kovilka feels uncomfortable holding eye contact but is reluctant to look away. "Fifty-eight years old without a biological heir. Child of the previous Don Marcelli, though the famiglia was originally meant to go to her elder brother, Vinicio, until his mysterious disappearance. Has led the Marcelli into a time of economic stability and joined the Vongola Alliance, at times working closely with Don Vongola himself to push out competitors." He smiles. "Is that in your report?"

Kovilka frowns tightly. "What, are you an expert on Donna Marcelli or something?"

"No. But most of that is common knowledge to those in the right circles." Reborn picks up a paper at random and she doesn't try to stop him this time, silently watching his eyes skim the page. "Now that I look at it, this is less inaccurate and more blatant lying," he says, "Your informant must have taken one look at you and thought they could get away with screwing you over. I hope you didn't pay too much for this."

Afraid of saying something that might make the situation escalate, Kovilka chooses not to say anything at all.

Reborn's smile widens a bit and he sets the paper down. "You know, there's a much easier way to learn about someone that doesn't involve almost breaking omertà," he says, "If you work for the right people long enough, eventually you'll hear something relevant. I'd say most of the Vongola Alliance is well aware of Donna Marcelli's history."

"And there it is," Kovilka says, "The real reason you're here. A recruitment pitch."

Kovilka thinks she must hold the world record for making Reborn angry, because the humor disappears from his face in an instant. "You can't be this stupid, Kovilka," he says, "You have to know that you'd have more options if you worked with a family. If you marketed yourself as a specialist rather than a hired gun, you could work the same jobs you do now and get paid better for it."

"I can't do that."

"You can, you just don't want to."

"Didn't you say last time you thought it would be a waste of time for everyone involved?" she asks.

"I was hoping it would make you angry enough that you'd want to prove me wrong."

Kovilka takes a deep breath, counts to five, and lets it out, trying to calm herself. "You're dealing with me like I'm a child."

"You are a child," Reborn says, "Not only because of your behavior, but also your lack of experience. You need a mentor and you need to make the right connections or you're going to get yourself killed, and I can't do that for you."

"I really don't-!"

"I can't be your mentor because it would complicate other relationships that might arise."

Kovilka turns away as she feels heat rising to her face. "I didn't ask you why you couldn't."

"I knew you wouldn't, so I thought I'd just tell you." Reborn reaches across the table, and she knows what he's going to do, knows she needs to move away, but she doesn't, and a moment later, he's holding onto her hand and rubbing circles into the top with his thumb. He leans in over the table, and she feels her heart beating faster. "If you really can't stand me," he says quietly, "You need to come out and say it, and we can keep things strictly business."

Kovilka dares to hold his gaze despite how heavily she's blushing. "Bianchi told me you don't go after people who aren't interested," she says.

He chuckles and shakes his head. "You were talking about me behind my back?"

"You did it to me plenty," she snaps.

"So what are you saying?" Reborn asks, "That you're interested, and I should already know that?"

She looks away for a second, bites her lips, and looks at him again. "Yes," she says, quietly enough that she can hardly hear herself over the bar chatter.

From the smile on his face, he hears her just fine.

Kovilka pulls her hand away and gathers the apparently useless information on Donna Marcelli, getting ready to leave. "I'll think about what you said," she tells him, "Regarding a mentor."

"Let me give you my number, then." She looks at him warily but eventually hands him her phone, letting him add himself as a contact before he gives it back. She stands from the table and is relieved to see he doesn't move to follow. "We'll be in touch," he simply says, and she nods, hurrying to leave.

He didn't say anything about it, but she saw the way he was grinning like the cat that got the canary. She thinks she probably shouldn't have said anything. If Reborn was difficult to deal with before, he's only going to be worse now that she's admitted that she likes him.


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm sorry?" the informant asks, less like he didn't hear Kovilka and more like he doesn't believe she would even ask.

"A refund," she repeats, slowly this time so he can't possibly say that her accent is the problem, "I would like a refund. The report was not just unsatisfactory, it was unreliable." After Reborn had told her as much the previous day, she'd corroborated just the bare minimum he'd told her and found that even Donna Marcelli's age and marital status were incorrect, which was plenty to make her doubt the rest.

"There are no refunds," she's told flatly.

"Are you kidding me? You sold me complete lies. I paid you up front, it's not as though I could have checked."

There's a long pause. Kovilka holds her phone away from her face and discovers he actually hung up on her and gives out a long and frustrated sigh.

Money is tight again.

The informant fee had been quite a bit more than she'd initially wanted to pay, and she'd hoped she could get at least some of that back. As much as the idea makes her uneasy, she's fairly certain she's going to have show up in person to prove she isn't a complete newbie who can be conned like that. It hadn't happened before, so she'd never been worried about it.

She wonders if Reborn has anything to do with her slipping reputation.

Conversely, she wonders if working with him rather than against him might boost it.

She scrolls to his number in her contact list and her finger hovers over the "call" button as she internally weighs the pros and cons. On one hand, working together would guarantee a paycheck and she could add it to her percentage of success. On the other, Reborn is a flirtatious bastard who would likely try to make it a less-than-professional encounter. Kovilka doesn't think she has anything to be afraid of; as perseverant as he is, a flat, honest refusal would deter him, because he doesn't go after people who aren't interested.

The problem is, she is interested, she just has some very traditional views on intimate relationships and isn't sure how to reconcile that with the rest of her largely non-traditional life. Until she can, they're just going to keep dancing around each other, Reborn refusing to give up, Kovilka refusing to give in, sexual tension building to ridiculous levels until maybe her upbringing won't even matter anymore.

She doesn't think it really works that way, but secretly, she hopes it does.

Against her better judgment, she makes the call, making herself comfortable on the couch while she waits for him to answer. It rings once, twice, three times, and she's crossing her legs impatiently and starting to think it might go to voicemail when suddenly he answers.

"_Pronto_?" she hears what sounds like Reborn but a little deeper and rougher than usual, like he just woke up.

"It's me," she says awkwardly, glancing at her wall clock. It's past noon; could he really have slept in that late? "Ah. I was wondering if you had any jobs lined up."

"Oh. Yeah, I had something, just a minute." She hears something like sheets rustling, and then freezes in place when an unmistakably female voice, not Bianchi's or anyone she knows, a complete stranger, murmurs, "Where are you going?"

She holds her breath, suddenly feeling embarrassed just by being part of what she suspects is a private moment, and hears Reborn reply, "Business, _bella_, I'll be right back." Kovilka glances around her living room looking for something to do, something to keep her busy so she can stop thinking about what the scene on the other end of the line must look like, to make her face stop burning and her heart stop beating so quickly. Before she can think of something, Reborn returns, sounding slightly more like she's used to hearing him sound. "There is a job I would need a second set of eyes on," he says, "It's similar to the first one we went on, if you remember the gala."

It was bizarre, but nothing she couldn't handle, and the pay had been great. "That sounds perfect," she says.

"It would be," he says, "But it's not a CEDEF job."

"That's fine, I don't-!"

"Don Vongola himself made this request."

Kovilka falls silent.

"We'll be meeting him for the briefing," Reborn continues, "Unless you'd rather sit this one out."

It shouldn't bother her as much as it does, and she knows that. Technically, even the CEDEF job was affiliated with the Vongola, so it isn't like she'll be stepping some sort of boundary by carrying out an order from the big boss himself.

She doesn't think so, anyway. She hopes not.

"No," she says, "I can do that."

"Glad to hear it. If you have time later today, I can arrange to meet with Don Vongola in the evening. He should be done with most of his appointments by then."

"That's...fine," she says slowly, "Are you sure you're...free today? I don't mean to interrupt or anything."

There's a pause. Reborn chuckles softly, and she feels even more embarrassed for some reason, as though he's laughing at her. "No, no, I'm free," he says, and must be in a surprisingly merciful mood, because he doesn't follow that up with any teasing.

"Great, talk to you later," she says quickly in the ensuing silence, eager to get off the phone before he changes his mind, and hangs up.

She sits on the couch for a minute longer, still clutching her phone in her hand, and wondering why she's feeling so flustered and embarrassed and maybe even a little angry.

* * *

><p>The Vongola compound is elegant but modest, a series of large buildings that look something like renovated castles looming over the treeline in the countryside. Kovilka feels a little strange having her tiny piece of garbage car that's about half as old as she is valet parked but if Vongola's suits think it's strange, they don't say anything. Reborn is already there waiting by the front door, and while she's thankful she won't have to worry about getting lost trying to find the meeting room, she can't quite look him in the eye.<p>

"It's funny," he says, "Just before you called, I was-!"

"We're not talking about this," Kovilka says hurriedly.

"Kovilka, you're a grown woman," he says in exasperation, though there's a hint of uncertainty at the end, and she glares in his general direction.

"Yes, I am a grown woman," she snaps, "It's just not something I'm comfortable with."

"You don't need to act like you're disgusted."

"I'm not disgusted, I'm just…" She struggles to find the right word. "Can we have this discussion when we're not supposed to be talking about business?"

Reborn makes a noise like he's thinking. "I'll hold you to that."

Kovilka knows she's just gotten herself into something she'll probably regret later, but for the time being, she doesn't mind.

Reborn holds the door open for her, and she mutters a "thank you," before going in, pausing in the doorway when she glances down the long table and finds every chair empty but the one at the far end closest to the window.

Don Vongola is a brunette with a warm gaze, much younger than she expected, and unlike every other mafioso she's ever met in her life, he wears white instead of black. He also doesn't look very Italian, though before she can dwell on that for too long, he stands from his seat. "Please, come in," he says, smiling in a disarmingly sincere way, and Kovilka slowly makes her way over to him. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you," he says with a firm handshake, speaking not slowly but very clearly, probably for her benefit, "Reborn has told me a bit about you."

She glances back over her shoulder at the mentioned hitman, who gives a passive wave.

"All of it awful," he says, and Don Vongola chuckles. She isn't sure if he's joking or not.

Kovilka takes the seat closest to the Don on the right side of the table, and Reborn takes the left so they can all face each other. She's expecting them to launch straight into the briefing, so when Don Vongola says, "Kovilka, tell me a little about yourself," she takes a long time to answer.

"Ah. What do you want to know?" she asks hesitantly.

"Anything you feel comfortable sharing," he says, "Reborn has mentioned your skill in the field, but very little about your personal life."

If he wasn't a Don, she would be asking if that was really his business. She glances again at Reborn, who doesn't meet her gaze, staring at a spot on the wall behind her. Waiting. She supposes Reborn probably would have told him, but she's been tight-lipped with him as well. She hopes there's actually a job at the end of all this and it's not just some kind of bizarre, Reborn-style test to get her to talk about herself.

She decides the best thing to do is to be straightforward. "I don't usually work with mafia," she admits, "Ever."

"Reborn mentioned that," Don Vongola says, unfazed and apparently expecting elaboration.

"Truthfully, I think my family might have had a run-in with the mafia," she says, and she sees Reborn's eyes focus on her out of the corner of her eye. "My mother always spoke negatively about them in particular. Whatever happened, it was before I can remember. I don't hold the same grudge she does, but I've been a little hesitant to seek out any mafia employers, just in case." She hesitates to go on. She's about to give herself away, and she knows it, but she thinks about the time she talked to Bianchi, just talked for a while, and thinks that maybe it's time to get it all out and move on.

"In Italy, you have the vendetta," Kovilka says, "Someone wrongs you, and you must pay them back to make it right. We have something like that in my country, too. We call it _krvna osteva_. If someone were to kill my sister, then I would kill them. If he were already dead, then I would kill one of his relatives. The death of one necessitates the death of another." She stops herself when she notices her accent becoming heavy again.

"A blood feud," Don Vongola notes.

"Exactly." Kovilka shrugs. "It's a little old-fashioned now, but to say that nobody does it anymore isn't accurate. If you live in the city, you probably know what it is, but you think it's just another way to say 'murder.' But some people," she pauses, "my mother among them, think they're not the same thing. Murder is only the first half; _krvna osteva_ is the outcome."

"You think your father was killed by mafia," Reborn says suddenly, "You're afraid to find out who killed him, because then you'll have to enact revenge."

_And you can't do that,_ he doesn't say, but Kovilka still hears it.

"I don't know what happened to my father," she says, shaking her head, "But I'm not a very curious person. The less I talk to mafia, the less I'll learn about them. It's for the better. No offense, Don Vongola."

"None taken," he says, "I understand. If you don't feel comfortable working with me, that's fine. Reborn can serve as a go-between."

She doesn't look at Reborn, because he's probably has a smug look on his face. "That's alright," she says, "I'm a little short on money right now, so that's why I'm here. I don't plan to make a habit out of taking jobs from you." She pauses. "Uh. No offense. Again."

Don Vongola just smiles. "I see," he says, and something about his face tells her that this is not the last she's going to see of him. "Then, regarding the job…."

Just like that, they're back on track. Kovilka listens the best she can, but she can feel Reborn's eyes on her and practically hear the gear turning in his head as he tries to analyze her like he always does.

"I understand you accompanied Reborn on a mission similar to this," Don Vongola says, "This is much less short-notice than before, so from today, you have about two weeks to prepare. The main difference, of course, is that rather than investors and politicians, the guests at this event will mostly be from influential _famiglia_. Several of my associates will likely be in attendance, and this is a bit of a personal favor to them. Rather than stealing anything, you'll be keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. You'll be something like undercover security, I suppose…."

Kovilka's eyes widen. "Excuse me, I don't mean to interrupt," she says as soon as she gets the chance, "But I don't think this is the job for me."

Don Vongola studies her expression for a moment. "I hope you aren't offended by my saying so," he begins, "But, Kovilka, Reborn has already told me about your limitations. Even if you find someone who you believe is responsible for your father's death, what are you going to do about it?"

She swallows, feeling heat rise to her face. "I guess," she says quietly, "Nothing."

"I don't think you really have to worry, anyway," he continues, "From what Reborn has told me and what you've mentioned just now, am I correct in assuming that you're from Montenegro?"

Kovilka is starting to dislike Don Vongola; not because he's unkind or anything, but because he's incredibly perceptive. "Got it in one."

"I don't think anyone in the Vongola Alliance has had much in the way of dealings with Montenegro, so it's unlikely you'll find any suspects there." He pauses. "Although…there is someone who has made visits to Montenegro before, though I really don't think they're the type…."

"Who?" Kovilka asks without thinking.

Reborn glances at Don Vongola, not looking like he's going to stop him but with an expression that suggests he isn't sure this is the best course of action. Don Vongola's eyes meet Kovilka's, and he speaks slowly so there's no way she can mishear him. "Donna Marcelli, I believe."

Time seems to stop for a moment. Kovilka thinks back to all of the jobs she's had with the woman before, how she always seems to be playing with her, the bizarre coincidences that have been piling up time and time again. How many people know what happened? How many people would she have to choose between to satisfy the _krvna osteva? _

A cold, sinking feeling overtakes her as she reflects on her many arguments with her mother, all of the _"you have no idea what the world is like, Kovilka, about the kinds of people there are. The mafia will take everything you love,"_ and _"don't you walk out that door, don't you leave us here, where will you go? Who will take care of your sister? Who will help me tend to the sheep? Who will take care of the things that have been left unfinished?"_

_"When will you understand that some things are not a choice, but simply the way we must do it?"_

It all takes on a sinister tone when she thinks of it through that lens. She's the eldest; her mother is frail now and had no sons, and so the duty to avenge the fallen rests on her shoulders. She believes wholeheartedly now that her father was murdered, that his murderers were mafia, and that when she left her family behind, she took from them their only opportunity to have any peace and closure.

But she can still make things right.

She glances at Don Vongola, who has continued talking, and then at Reborn, who sits silently watching the Don, and she decides she has to learn more. This is not something she can rely on an informant for; this is something she'll have to do alone. She can't act until she is completely certain, but once her suspicions are proven, once she has found the culprit, and once the time is right, she will do what must be done.

Beneath the table, her hands are shaking.

* * *

><p>Kovilka follows Reborn back to the front gates of the compound where their cars have been brought back around, and tries to ignore the way he's looking at her, wondering if he knows what she's thinking.<p>

"Kovilka," he calls as she's reaching for her car door, "Are you busy? Did you want to get coffee?"

"I'm busy," she says and climbs into the driver's seat, but finds the door immovable when she tries to shut it, Reborn looming over her and holding it open with one hand. She doesn't look up, both hands on the steering wheel. "I'm not feeling well," she amends.

"You're worried about the job."

"I-!"

"You'd feel better if you did something that took your mind off of it for a while." When she still doesn't respond, he says, "Do you really think Donna Marcelli did it?"

"I don't know her from a hole in the wall," she says. She sighs and finally looks up at his face, regretting it instantly. She doesn't want to just drive away; she'd love to get coffee or do whatever that turns into-probably nothing, knowing her-but she knows she has more important things to worry about. "Give me some time to myself tonight," she says, "And I'll call you tomorrow."

Reborn looks surprised, but pleased nonetheless. He nods and backs away, allowing her to shut the door. Kovilka drives away quickly, not wanting to look back at him. She's going to need something to take her mind off of everything else tomorrow, because tonight, she needs to a pay a visit to a man who deliberately lied to her about a certain Donna, and she suspects the reason isn't because he thought she was new.


End file.
